Crowded House: Tokio Hotel AU
by FuckYouToo
Summary: Tom works with chronic hoarders for a living. He treats every client indifferently. But at the request of his boss, he's forced to take a genuine interest in Bill and struggles to change his client's life without losing site of his own. Warnings Inside.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This story is completely fictional. The use of famous persons (members of Tokio Hotel) within the storyline is not meant to cause any harm; Hustler Magazine, Inc. v. Falwell, 485 U.S. 46 (1988).

**Warning:** Alternate Universe, non-Related Twincest, Homoerotic themes, language, and psychological angst.

* * *

Intro…

Tom put a caring hand to Mrs. Romanowski's frail shoulder as she wept into a lace handkerchief.

"I'm sorry," the elderly woman said. "I know it's just stuff…but it's _my_ stuff, ya know?" she tried to explain.

"It's okay, Helen. You don't have to apologize. Letting go is very hard for someone like you. Chronic hoarding is a serious addiction and you've finally made the right decision to get help," Tom reassured his client while eyeing the hills of garbage that surrounded them. He'd been assigned to Helen Romanowski's case three months ago, but it wasn't until today that they'd gotten any real progress done. Every week they'd reorganize or throw things away or stack reusable items in the front yard for transport to the thrift store. And each time, she would decide to keep it all at the last minute. At least this week she had allowed 6 large boxes of pet soiled clothing, spoiled food goods, and other debris to be removed from her home for good. Minuscule as it was, at this rate the Department of Health Services would have no reason to condemn her property like they had threatened to do so in the past.

Tom waved at Helen from his car window as he dragged the seat belt over his abdomen. He felt proud of himself for not quitting on her. It was always something special when a tough case finally started softening up and he couldn't wait to relay the good news back to his superior the next day.

After a brief trip to the grocery store, Tom came home to his meager apartment exhausted. With Julian gone, he was all alone. Not that Jules had ever been a good boyfriend; he was a liar, pretentious, and vain…but at least he was someone to talk to. With a job like his, it was hard to find a mate that would tolerate the long hours and dedication it took to help change the life of another human being.

Tom resigned to having dinner with Alex Trebek as he ate in front of the television. He didn't even like Jeopardy, but here he was a on a Friday night, yelling answers at a game show. Without much cause to stay awake, he went to bed early. Maybe tomorrow would be different.

* * *

It was Sunday afternoon. The last few hours of freedom before the start of the work week were beginning to dwindle and Tom was in the middle of ironing clothes. His cell phone rang, but he didn't answer. The only person likely to call was Julian and Tom was just too busy to even hang up on him. But in his haste to take care of business at home, he realized that it was his work phone that had been ringing, not his personal phone.

"Shit," he cursed himself, feeling dumb for not recognizing the difference in ringtones. He saw that the missed call was from Mrs. Romanowski. She'd left a voicemail, but it was completely unintelligible. He dialed her up to see what she needed.

"Hello, Mrs.—,"

"Tom! Tom, they're trying to take everything from me!" the woman sobbed.

"Who? What's going on?"

"Oh, please help me. I tried, didn't I? I tried to clean up my house! They're taking everything!" Mrs. Romanowski practically screamed.

"Just try to stay calm. I'll be there as quickly as I can!"

Tom dropped everything to get to his client's home. He had a good idea of exactly what was going on and had feared that something like this might happen.

Pulling up to Helen's house, he was greeted by a barrage of trucks. Some were from the dump; others were from a towing company. _All _were there to take something away; furniture, electronics, old cars.

"Hey!" Tom yelled, nearly leaping out of his vehicle after pulling up to the curb. "You don't have permission to take this woman's belongings. This is stealing!" he tried to convince the men in blue jumpsuits as they dragged more items out of the home.

"Who are _you_?" asked a woman who seemingly appeared out of nowhere. She looked a lot like Mrs. Romanowski, but about 30 years younger. He knew that this must be her daughter, Claudia.

"My name is Tom Kaulitz. I'm a life-coach working with Helen Romanowski. Where is she?"

"Life-coach? Right," the woman scoffed as she eyed his lip piercing and blond dreadlocks with scrutiny. "No offense Tom, but in one year, all you've managed to do is unclutter the main hallway and part of the kitchen. I've only been here for one _hour_ and already the entire house is starting to show signs of improvement."

"You call this improvement, mercilessly throwing away the possessions of an old woman with emotional problems? Don't you know that this is the reason for her hoarding in the first place; the fear of being destitute, the fear of losing everything?" Tom demanded to know. "And I haven't been on her case for a _year_. She had other coaches that all gave up on her when things got tough, but I stuck around. I got her to trust me after a few months. We were making progress and now you're about to send her into a relapse. This is _not_ the way you help a hoarder!"

"Listen, I'm Helen's daughter and I know what's best for her. She obviously can't be trusted to take care of herself anymore, so I'm putting her in a home and we're selling the house."

"But—!"

"Good bye, Mr. Kaulitz. Please don't make me call the police," the woman raised an eyebrow before turning away. That's when Tom noticed Mrs. Romanowski sitting on the porch steps, her eyes glossed over and lifeless as all of her belongings continued to be taken away. Her spirit was broken.

Reluctantly, Tom got back into his car, but he wasn't done yet. He called his boss immediately.

"Hello, Tom," a tired voice sighed into the receiver. "I thought you might call. Let me guess, you're at the Romanowski house?"

"So then you knew about this? You knew that this was going to happen with my client today and you didn't call me first? Gus, we're supposed to be friends."

"Don't do this again, Tom. Don't let your ego get in the way. I know you spent a lot of time on this case, but you have to let it go. Some you win and some you don't. Just focus on the successes, not the losses."

"No! This wasn't right. We were making progress! We—,"

"I'm sorry, Tom. You're client's daughter has legal authority over the matter and there's nothing we can do; nothing we _should_ do. Justice isn't part of this job and neither is being _competitive_," Tom's boss, Gustav, emphasized. "Remember, it's not about how many people we _can't _help, it's about how many we _can_," Tom's boss rattled off that tired, old company motto that he liked to use during office pep-talks. There was complete silence over the line. "You still there?"

"Yeah."

"Look, you're just going to have to put this out of your mind. Monday you've got other assignments to take care of, okay?"

"Sure," Tom said quietly. "I gotta go." He hung up the phone feeling more depressed than ever. Mrs. Romanowski hadn't just been a regular client. She was one of the worst cases he had ever seen; a recluse, who nearly died in her home after a fall that caused a rib to fracture. It only took an ambulance 12 minutes to get to her home, but 45 to dig through garbage at the front door. So much effort had gone into controlling her illness, but now that was all sabotaged.

Tom had been working as a life coach for the Adult Welfare Department for nearly 3 years. Most of his cases were simple. He'd be assigned to a client who just couldn't organize by themselves or a person physically unable to do so based on age or health. These were reasonable people who had just become overwhelmed. Then there were cases like that of Helen Romanowski, chronic hoarders with totally unreasonable, irrational attachments to anything and everything.

In the early days, Tom always used to get the hard cases. Other employees would purposely swap his files with theirs. They all felt it was pretty coincidental that Tom was hired the very same day that a former co-worker of theirs had been fired without warning and that was their way of getting back at him. Ironically, it was this ongoing prank that forced Tom to develop his coaching skills. Eventually, he became a regular "miracle worker" around the office. He loved the feeling of accomplishment and even more so, the look of resentment in the eyes of his workplace antagonists. Back then, Gustav was his only supportive co-worker and once he got promoted to Director, he corrected all of the case assignments for his friend. But by that time Tom didn't need anyone to trick him into taking hard cases, he was _requesting_ them. Something inside just made him feel like he needed to prove himself over and over again, taking his share of responsibilities and more…

Tom took one last look at Helen as she sat on the porch, staring at her miserable face while all of her dignity was stripped away one chair, bicycle, and broken lamp shade at a time.

"…_Some you win and some you don't…"_ he could hear Gustav's voice in his head. Putting his car in drive, Tom left the scene feeling like a failure.

* * *

It was 9:00 am Monday morning, but Tom was already checking off names from his new assignment sheet. It wasn't uncommon for some clients to spontaneously relapse and jump right back to square one. So it was always best to do regular bi-yearly inspections. First, he stopped by Mr. and Mrs. Hank Elroy's house for a visit. He'd helped them stay hoard free for almost two years, but they hadn't been a tough case to begin with. They were just old and had no one to help them at first. The inspection was over quickly, moving on to the next case.

"May I have a look around?" Tom asked Jenna Peterson when she came to the front door with a baby on her hip. Her apartment wasn't exactly tidy at the moment, but he could tell that she and her boyfriend had really been trying to keep the place clean. Her hoarding had never been chronic either, but with 4 kids by 3 different lack-luster fathers, housekeeping had been put on the back burner until concerned neighbors began to complain. Tom could hardly stand the bug spray smell in her home, but at least she didn't have roaches anymore.

"Back so soon?" asked Mrs. Chan when her life-coach pulled into the driveway. She was watering a garden that used to be knee deep with car parts and Chinese newspapers. Tom greeted her then, thought to himself for a moment. She was right. Hadn't he just been here a couple months earlier?

"Excuse me a moment," Tom smiled.

After taking a good look at his assignment sheet again, he realized that none of the cases were new and all were simply "due for inspection." Easy stuff. He quickly dialed up his superior.

"Yes, this is Mr. Schäfer speaking. How may I help you?" Gustav answered the phone angelically.

"Oh, don't get cute!" Tom huffed. "You _know_ who this is."

"Let me guess, you're upset about the work load?"

"If you can even call it that! Why am I stuck doing busy-work this week? It's cause I fucked up with the last one, isn't it?" Tom asked somberly, not actually wanting to know the answer, but needing to know the truth anyway. "I've made you lose faith in me…" his voice trailed off.

"What? No. It's because I think you need a break. I think you should stay away from the hard stuff for a while and give yourself a chance to calm down. You have a tendency to really beat yourself up when a case goes bad."

"So I'm passionate about my work. Isn't that the idea? I wish you would just trust me."

"I do trust you," Gustav tried to convince his friend. "But, fine…if you want a challenge so bad, I've got one for you. There's a client I've been working with myself for a while, but I don't seem to be getting anywhere with him."

"What? Quitting a case? That's not like you."

"It's complicated. Anyway, come down to the office for a new print out and it's y—,"

"I've got a pen and paper. Hit me with it," Tom interrupted.

"Okay," Gustav agreed begrudgingly. He was hoping for the opportunity to change his friend's mind after luring him back to the office, but Tom was all too familiar with that old trick.

"The name is Bill Trümper. He's been a chronic hoarder for the past two years. He lives at…"

Tom kept taking notes as the information was relayed to him, feeling happy, but also anxious. This wasn't just some new case; it was a chance to redeem himself as a successful coach.

Tom hung up before continuing a brief conversation with Mrs. Chan. He left apologetically for any inconvenience he may have caused her and practically sped to the Trümper house.

* * *

"1453 Arrowhead Drive…" Tom thought out loud while keeping his eyes peeled for the right house. Or was it 1458? His handwriting had gotten smudged. Typically, he could just look for the messiest house on the street, but that wouldn't work this time. This was the Shenandoah area, a very upscale neighborhood. Every home looked pristine, every yard was finely manicured. Slowly, he progressed down the road before making an abrupt stop. "That's gotta be the one," he said to himself. Today was obviously garbage day. Every other home had their dumpsters lined up against the curb, all except for one rebellious brick Tudor. Normal people throw away their garbage. Chronic hoarders almost never do. Based on that hunch, Tom advanced to the front door.

Sometimes it was hard for older people to hear when he arrived, so Tom rang the doorbell twice and knocked for good measure.

"Hello! Mr. Trümper, are you home?" he questioned with his hands cupped around his mouth for better voice projection. Suddenly the front door swung open.

"Must you be so loud?" a young man with long black hair snapped at him from the threshold.

Tom paused for a moment. He was completely caught off guard.

"I'm so sorry. Uhm, does a Mr. Bill Trümper live here? I'm from the Adult Welfare Department and—,"

"That'd be me."

"Oh…"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bill folded a pair of slender arms across his chest.

"Nothing," Tom started laughing to himself. I guess I just pictured a crotchety old man living by himself with a bunch of cats or something."

Suddenly, an orange and white tabby meowed its way onto the front porch from Bill's living room. A grey one followed shortly afterward.

"I only have _two_, okay!" Bill said defensively after looking at the expression on Tom's face. He was embarrassed enough about the state of his house without people thinking that he lived like a cat lady. This was getting to be humiliating.

"Well, uh…let's get started, shall we?"

"Just give a minute," Tom's new client sighed. He took a deep breath before moving out of the threshold and allowing this unfamiliar person into his home, this stranger who might judge or exploit him.

Tom entered the house cautiously, as protocol would have it and was surprised to see what actually looked like a very organized mess. There wasn't much space for walking and it was hard to judge the true width of the living room due to the density of the hoard, but there was definitely some type of method to the madness. It was clean and orderly. Unfortunately, Bill's neatness made Tom wonder if his client also suffered from obsessive compulsive disorder. Dealing with someone who had more than one behavioral issue meant that he had a lot of work ahead of him.

"May I have a look around?"

"If you must," Bill answered, not sparing an ounce of attitude. Tom could sense that his presence was barely being tolerated. His new client's personality would take some getting used to and it might even take some ignoring.

Upon closer inspection of the home, it became immediately obvious that most of Bill's keepsakes all possessed a common theme. The front room was bombarded with two living room suites; one of which still had showroom tags from the furniture gallery. A jungle of untouched floor lamps and coat racks camouflaged the back wall. Tom wasn't at all surprised to find a collection of Oriental rugs, coffee tables, paintings, and mirrors to be in the same state.

"Is all of this stuff brand new?"

"Well, I've never really used it, if that's what you mean."

"So, maybe you have a problem with impulsive spending as well, buying things without a purpose?"

"No, they have a purpose."

"Like?"

"I bought them for my boyfriend."

"Well, you shouldn't be going through this alone if he's letting you buy this stuff. Where is he?"

"He's dead."

"Oh…" Tom replied quietly. "I'm so sorr—,"

"Whatever, let's just move on," Bill glared impatiently, as if it were all no big deal. But the state of his crowded house betrayed that logic. This was a _very_ big deal.

"Is that why you hold onto all of this stuff? Because it belonged to someone you loved?" Tom prepared for the other man to snap at him, but it was a question worth asking.

"Do I really have to start getting rid of things today?" Bill changed the subject. He looked worried.

"No, I don't like that approach. It's too invasive. Today I'm just here to introduce myself. What we do and when is up to you."

"Thank you," the other man nodded, his face expressing genuine gratuity with just the hint of a smile.

Tom smirked at how humble he seemed for once. Maybe Bill wasn't as tough as he looked.

* * *

Dedicated to Jolene. Now you can't say I never write anything for you.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: This story is completely fictional. The use of famous persons (members of Tokio Hotel) within the storyline is not meant to cause any harm; Hustler Magazine, Inc. v. Falwell, 485 U.S. 46 (1988).

* * *

F-bomb to Your Mom

After climbing out of the shower, Bill dragged a wet hand across the foggy bathroom mirror. He stared at his blurry reflection, wondering if he'd ever learn to stop hating it. This cycle of self-loathing was really beginning to take its toll, but part of him still felt like he deserved it.

Upon hearing his cell phone ring, he wrapped a towel around his waist to search for it in the bedroom.

"Hey, Gus," he answered after checking the caller ID.

"You still mad at me?" the other man asked in a small voice.

"Yes. No. Kind of. I dunno…" Bill said indecisively.

"It's not that I didn't want to be your life-coach anymore. I just _couldn't_," Gustav tried to explain in reference to why he had chosen Tom to be Bill's new life-coach.

"I understand. I know that our friendship gets in the way of my progress. It's not right the way I manipulate you sometimes. I just wish you hadn't dropped the news on me 15 minutes before the new guy showed up at my house this afternoon. That part I'm still peeved about."

"Alright. I take the blame for that. But know that I haven't just sent any old person to help you. Give Tom the chance and he'll work with you more diligently than I ever could have."

"If you say so," Bill exhaled. "Well, goodnight."

"Night."

After toweling off, Bill climbed into bed gently. He wasn't sleepy yet, but he felt absolutely tired. He was wide awake, but worn out. Alert, but exhausted. His anxieties just wouldn't give him a break.

Turning to the picture on his nightstand, he reached for the frame and pulled it into bed with him. For most people, a photo would be enough to commemorate the death of a fallen loved one. Bill on the other hand had turned his entire home into a shrine dedicated to the preservation of his boyfriend's memory.

"I'm sorry," he whispered while staring into the eyes of Andreas, his former lover. "I'm so sorry…" Had it really been four years since his death already? How was it that everyone else had seemed to move on except him? Even Gustav had managed to get over it and the two of them had known each other long before Bill ever came onto the scene. "Goodnight," he said quietly to picture and turned off the lights.

* * *

HONK! HONK!

Bill jumped in his seat, not realizing that the traffic light had already turned green. He'd been daydreaming again, thinking about the lyrics to a new song he'd come up with over breakfast. As a professional songwriter, he wondered if he should offer his new ideas up to GunSmoke, the new artist he'd be working with in the studio today or keep them for himself. Sometimes even words were hard to part with, but at least they didn't take up as much room as the endless hoard of god-knows-what that crowded his once spacious home.

And although Bill had promised Gus that he'd keep seeing his new life-coach on a weekly basis, it had been more than a month since he'd even spoken to Tom. He let every phone call go through to voicemail and spent as many afternoons away from home as possible in case Mr. Dreadlocks decided to show up again.

Upon driving into work, Bill passed clearance by flashing his Employee ID at the security gate.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath. Someone had parked in his assigned stall and now he had to circle the garage again. This day was starting out rough. He'd already gotten into a screaming match with a Starbucks cashier who had charged him twice for the same dry muffin and by now his tolerance for human error was beginning to unravel.

After a quick glance in the rearview mirror to make sure the kohl around his eyes hadn't smeared, he stepped out of his vehicle and walked to the main building's entrance. But not before leaving a nasty note on the windshield of whoever had parked in his stall of course.

"Morning, Mr. Trümper. I hope you're having a wonderful day," the doorman greeted as Bill walked through.

"Mhm, good morning…" he replied just above a whisper, wondering why the other man couldn't just smile and hold the damn door open. Bill frowned at the upcoming crowd that he'd have to face if he wanted to walk down the hall.

"Good morning…Hey there, Bill!...Mornin'…What's up, Bill?" Everyone seemed to say at once.

"Morning…" he said through his teeth, trying his best not to growl. He hated the endless charade of pretending to be in a good mood every damn day. After a quick detour to his office for the keys, he continued down the left wing to studio 3A. Surprisingly, he could see that the lights were on and people already appeared to be working inside. Bill's blood boiled. He'd reserved this particular studio a week in advance and someone was infringing on one of his work sessions again. First it was the Starbucks cashier, then it was the parking stall, now this? Did everyone really need to fuck with him today?

"Hey! Get the hell out my…"

"Hi," said a familiar voice as Bill stormed into the room. He stood there absolutely stunned, unable to say so much as a word at first.

"Fuck no…" he finally exhaled and closed his eyes.

"I missed you too," Bill's mother responded sweetly, totally ignoring how devastated he actually looked to see her sitting in the studio with Gustav and three large cups of coffee on the table in front of them.

"No!" her son stamped his foot, looking everywhere around the room but at the two traitors in front of him.

"Yes," Simone nodded her head.

"No, no, no!"

"Yes, Bill!" Gustav finally chimed in. "This is an intervention."

* * *

"State your name and your affiliation to Helen Romanowski," Judge Elroy asked once Helen gave a brief statement and announced that she had a key witness joining her that morning. So far, she didn't seem to be reaching the judge's attention and hoped that Tom might be able to talk some sense into him.

"My name is Tom Kaulitz. I'm a behavioral specialist who works with Mrs. Romanowski as her life-coach," the blond explained. He was in court on behalf of his client to prove that she was a competent adult who was already receiving professional help for her hoarding disorder and that her daughter's eagerness to put her in a nursing home was all financially motivated.

"Your Honor, my mother almost died in that rat trap of a house that she lives in," Claudia insisted as she surrendered over photos of what Helen's home first looked like before dump trucks took everything away. "I know she wants to be independent and keep living on her own, but sometimes what a person wants isn't always what they need. I think those photographs and ambulance reports from the night she fell are proof enough. If I hadn't stepped in, she'd still be stuck in that pig sty. She'd be better off by allowing me to sell her house and use the money to pay for nursing home care."

"Mr. Kaulitz, do you have anything more to add?" the judge asked toward the end of their court session, but his tone sounded as if his mind was already made up. Those photographs and the ambulance reports had really made a compelling case.

"Helen's daughter is trying to mend a bullet wound with band-aid," Tom began. "Throwing out her mother's possessions was just a temporary solution to an illness that Claudia doesn't even understand. She has absolutely no professional background on this disorder. If she did, she would know that Helen isn't just someone who doesn't like to clean her house, she has a psychological condition; one which she recognizes and is in the process of correcting through the Adult Welfare Department."

"Well, I think we _all_ recognize that she has some sort of condition, son. That's the problem," Judge Elroy said flatly. "And her daughter's solution isn't just to throw her stuff away. It's to provide 'round-the-clock care at a facility for people of her age." Claudia nodded her head in agreement, not at all surprised that things were going her way. "In all fairness, it appears that Mrs. Romanowski's daughter is just doing what's in the best interest of her mother."

Looking at her daughter then, back at the judge, Helen felt doomed.

"I thought you might say that," Tom smiled, an expression that stumped everyone in the room. What could he possibly have to smile about, weren't they losing? "Now, because my client is a chronic hoarder, she literally hangs onto everything; receipts, birthday cards, phone bills," he explained while handing over a large portfolio full of phone records to the bailiff who in turn gave it to the judge. "For someone who claims that they care about their mother, why is it that I can count how many times she actually called Helen in the last year on just one hand?" Earlier, Tom had hi-lighted the mere 5 times that Claudia actually called her mother, 4 of which had only been within the last month.

"Well, that doesn't prove anything!" Claudia burst out defensively. "I don't always contact her from the same phone number." She was starting to look nervous for the first time. "How does he know that none of the other numbers on there are mine?"

"That's a valid question Mr. Kaulitz, answer it," the judge insisted, still feeling unimpressed by Tom's testimony.

"Well, there aren't very many other numbers to begin with, only three that have stayed in constant contact with Mrs. Romanowski and all of them belong to employees at the Adult Welfare Department. More often than not, I'm the only person who ever calls her for weeks at a time besides the occasional telemarketer."

The judge raised an eyebrow as he re-evaluated the evidence in front of him. Finally, it seemed as if he wasn't favoring Claudia anymore

"Your honor," Mrs. Romanwoski began in a small voice. "The nursing home that my daughter wants to shove me into costs roughly 26 thousand dollars a year with my insurance plan. My home is worth a little more than half a million dollars. That means selling it would provide roughly 20 years of room and board at the nursing home. Well, I'm 79 years old and as much as I hate to admit it, I probably won't live beyond another 10. My daughter knows this and just wants to sell my house so she can collect whatever money she knows I won't get to use. That way she can dig her clothing business out of the hole and avoid filing bankruptcy this year."

"Bankruptcy?" Judge Elroy lifted his eyebrow again, but even higher than the first time as he turned his attention toward Claudia who looked like she might just melt into the floor with guilt.

Tom smiled ear to ear, gently nudging Helen with his elbow. She was beaming and before the judge had even given a ruling they both knew that the war had been won.

* * *

After sitting at the table with his head in his hands for several minutes, Bill finally brought himself to make eye contact with Gustav and his mother again. So far they'd done all the talking while he tried his best not to cry in front of them. He hated looking weak around people and that had been the deciding factor in his decision to drop contact with Tom. After all, hoarding was his greatest weakness and he didn't want to share that with a stranger.

"I'll be back in a moment," Gustav excused himself to make a phone call.

"Hey, Gus," Tom answered. He'd barely left the courthouse. "I was just about to call you myself."

"Really, is everything okay?"

"Well listen, I know you told me to back away from the Romanowski case, but—,"

"But you stuck your nose in it anyway?" the other man interrupted. "Yeah, it's all the buzz at work how you insist on defying me. So, how did court go?"

"Oh, it went alright," Tom replied in a nonchalant tone.

"Look, I can hear you smiling over the phone, okay? Just rub it in already."

"It went terrific! I'm so glad I didn't listen to you," Tom blurted out at once. "I mean…"

"No, no I understand. Sometimes I'm wrong."

"You are?" Tom asked suspiciously. His boss was stubborn as an ox and if there was anything he never did, it was admit to being wrong.

"Hey, it happens," Gus said lightheartedly. "I'm really happy for you."

"Alright, cut the crap. What's going on?"

"Bill Trümper."

"Talk to ya later. Bye."

"Hang up on me now and you'll be standing in the unemployment line this time tomorrow!" Gus barked, half jokingly…and half not.

"We already talked about this. You know our company policy. I can't help anyone who doesn't want me to. And judging by the way he completely ignores my phone calls, well…"

"I know, I know. But please do me this favor. He's my best friend and he wants more help than he's willing to admit. If I could do it myself, I would, but I'm too close to him. He needs the perspective of an outsider; someone who won't cave when he breaks down or yells or throws things."

"_Throws _things?"

"Tom, I know that I always give you a hard time for being so competitive about this job, but I think that's exactly what Bill needs, a person who's in it to win it. And that's what you do best. You never give up."

"I dunno. He's gotta hit rock bottom first and I don't think he has."

"Oh, trust me, I'm working on it. His mother and I have been holding him above water for a long time, but that ends today. He'll have no choice but to get serious about this thing."

"Fine," said a reluctant voice. "I'll give him another try."

"Thanks man. I'll make this up to you."

"Don't mention it," Tom sighed.

Gustav hung up his phone and returned to the studio. The room felt tense.

"What did I miss?" he asked.

"Bill wants us to…what was it again, honey? 'Get the fuck out?' Something like that," Simone breathed and tried not to get angry. Anger would only make her leave and that's exactly what her son wanted.

"Did you really fuckin' say that to your own mother?" Gus questioned.

"No more F-bombs, please," the woman urged, Bill had already thrown enough at her in the last five minutes to last a lifetime and frankly she was tired of hearing it.

"Sorry," Gus apologized sheepishly. Simone gave him a nod of forgiveness and he turned his attention back to the matter at hand. "Look, when I told you this was an intervention earlier, I meant it. Your mother and I aren't here to ask, beg, or bribe you into getting your hoarding problem in check anymore. This time there's an ultimatum."

Bill sat up at full attention, a look of brazen fury smeared across his face. How dare they…

"Well, lay it on me," he hissed, eyes wild with rage and teeth digging into his bottom lip, almost enough to draw blood. Bill was skinny and cute, but his bitch-fits were legendary. "Go on, dammit! Say something!"

"Bill!" his mother argued.

"No it's okay, Simone," Gus said after swallowing hard, wondering whether Bill would take the coffee that his mother had brought and scald them with it or flip the table at them. No, that wasn't Bill's style. He would probably scald them both first and _then_, flip the table at them. Dissolving those thoughts from his head, Gustav did his best to focus. With a shaky hand, he pulled a folded up piece of paper from his pocket. "Bill, you've been my best friend since I was 13 years old and I love you, but I cannot be part of your life anymore if to continue to destroy yourself. I wish I could help you more, but I'm too emotionally involved to do so properly. So please accept help from the Adult Welfare Department. If you don't, I have no choice but to cease contact with you."

"Hey, wait a minute—,"

"Bill," his mother interrupted. She too had brought a note with her and took a very deep breath before starting again. "You've been the light of my life since the day you were born and I love you, but I cannot be part of your life anymore if you continue to destroy yourself. I wish I could help you more, but I don't know enough about your illness to do so properly. So please accept help from the Adult Welfare Department. If you don't, I have no choice but to cease contact with you," she finished tearfully.

After hearing the construction of his mother's plea, Bill knew that things were serious. This wasn't just some idle threat. This was a well thought out, by-the-book intervention.

1. Reflection of how long Bill had been in their lives and what his role has been

2. Profession of their love for him

3. Confession of inadequacy to help him directly

4. Attempt to provide a solution

5. Presentation of an ultimatum. Be helped…or be alone

"So what's it gonna be, Bill?" Gus asked as he watched the other man drag both hands through his black hair, praying inwardly that his friend would feel strong enough to make the right choice.

"Okay," Bill finally agreed.

"Yes!" his mother smiled, bringing her hands together and shaking them a little.

"But not right now."

"What?" Simone and Gustav asked in unison.

"I really want to, but I'm just so busy right now. Maybe in a couple of weeks," Bill tried to weasel his way out of the situation. It was the calling card of any addict; fear of change.

"You're always busy," the boy's mother reminded him.

"But, but I've got work to do. In fact, my new client should be here any minute, a new band. I can't just bail on my responsibilities."

"Oh, you mean GunSmoke?" Simone asked with a smug grin. Her son stared for a moment, wondering how she could have known that.

"Ah, shit…" Bill closed his eyes and leaned back. He'd been had. GunSmoke, otherwise known as _Gustav _and_ Simone_ had found a way to book themselves an appointment with him and that's how they'd been given access to the studio ahead of time.

"No more excuses. Whatever commission you missed out on today, I'll just have to pay for it. This was well worth finally being able to sit you down and make you listen to reason. You do understand that his is for real, don't you? We wouldn't have gone through all this trouble just for kicks. Now is the time to decide," Simone explained while shrugging her purse strap over one shoulder and standing up. She and Gus had agreed to spend no more than 60 minutes pleading their case and time had just run out. The rest was up to Bill. "What's more important, how _busy _you are, or getting your life back?"

His mother waited for an answer, but Bill didn't say anything, he just sat there looking betrayed. Why couldn't he understand that they just wanted what was best for him? She opened her mouth to say something else, but stopped short. What more could she really say? Turning toward the door, Gustav began to follow as they left Bill alone with his thoughts.

"Do you think he'll come around?" Simone questioned as they approached the parking garage.

"I wish I could say yes, but I just don't know," Gustav shrugged as he used his remote key to unlock the doors of his car.

"What's that on your windshield, a note?" Simone asked before climbing into the passenger's side.

"Your favorite," Gus quipped after reading its contents. "More F-bombs from Bill."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: This story is completely fictional. The use of famous persons (members of Tokio Hotel) within the storyline is not meant to cause any harm; Hustler Magazine, Inc. v. Falwell, 485 U.S. 46 (1988).

* * *

Guilty

Bill sat on his bed Indian style, staring down at his phone. It had been three days since the "intervention" at work and now that he was done being angry, he needed to do the right thing. He needed to call Tom. Taking the phone in hand, he thumbed the numbers quickly and hoped that the other man wouldn't pick up.

"Hello," Tom answered after just one ring.

"Dammit."

"What?"

"Nothing. This is Bill Trümper."

"Oh, it's good to hear from you. So what's up?"

"I need…I…"

"Go on," Tom encouraged. "You'll feel better once it's done."

"I-need-your-help!" Bill said all at once. If he hadn't forced the words out of himself like that, they would have never come.

"But do you _want_ my help?"

"Yes, I _want _it. I really do."

"Well, I'm available today if you're free."

"Today?" Bill's heart began pounding in his chest. "Oh, I dunno. It's sorta late already," he stalled.

"It's 12:30."

"Yeah, exactly. I mean, the morning's over. It's past noon. I've still gotta go get lunch and by then it'll be like—." CLICK. "Hello?" asked Bill, but once his voice was interrupted by the dial-tone, he knew that Tom had hung up on him. He cursed himself for pussyfooting around during their conversation. It showed his lack of commitment and obviously that was something Tom wasn't willing to put up with. It had to be all or nothing. He tried to call back unsuccessfully. Tom wasn't answering

Out of nowhere, Bill felt a panic attack coming on. He'd lost everything, his lover, his best friend; even his mom had bailed on him recently. Within a matter of seconds his breathing became shallow and he felt light headed. Leaving the bed and stumbling into the bathroom, he searched the medicine cabinet for a vile of lavender oil. Sitting on the edge of the tub, he quickly flipped open the cap and began breathing in the scent. His panic attacks first started after Andreas died and this was a technique Bill had learned in therapy. Most of the time it helped calm his nerves, even if just by a little.

After ten minutes, Bill was still shaking, but at least his breathing was back under control and he could think straight again.

Suddenly, he heard the doorbell ring. Several knocks followed soon afterward. At first Bill tried to ignore it. He wasn't in the mood to yell at any Jehovah's Witnesses, Avon ladies, door-to-door knife salesmen or girl scouts that day, which was usually his favorite. Even flipping them off through the window just wasn't appealing at the moment.

"Mr. Trümper!" a voice finally said. "Are you home?" Bill's eyes widened. He hopped up from the tub and made his way downstairs. Opening the front door, he saw Tom standing on his porch with take-out bags in his hands. "What? You wanted lunch, so I brought it," the blond replied even though Bill hadn't mentioned anything. His eyes said it all. "And now you can't try to ditch me because I'm already here."

Bill was at a loss for words. He just stood to the side as Tom walked in and found his way to the kitchen.

"Well…well, I hope you didn't go through much trouble to get all this, 'cause I'm a pretty picky eater. I don't eat anything that's too salty or pasty or broccoli or—,"

"Gus says you like Chinese food and I was in the mood for Indian, so I figured Thai might be a good compromise," Tom explained as he began separating the take-out boxes from their plastic bags. Bill eyed the fried spring rolls over his shoulder and couldn't help but feel a little hungry.

"Okay, you win," he caved and turned toward the dining room. After moving a few boxes, the table was clear and they had a place to sit. "Thanks by the way. For the food, I mean," Bill said after taste testing a little of this and a lot of that. "When you hung up on me earlier, I thought I'd really blown it for sure. I thought you'd given up on me."

"Ha! No," the other man smiled. "I knew that I had to move fast before you decided to leave the house or something. And I didn't want you to know what I was up to," he confessed.

"So how long do you think that you'll last?"

"What do you mean?"

"Here. With me. How long before you crack? You're not the first to come here, ya know."

Tom rolled his eyes.

"Look, I get it. You're a tough guy. You wear black. You're jaded, you're blah, blah, blah. And this is the part where you try to scare me off, but I've heard it all before. That's the disease talking, not you," he said in between mouthfuls of chicken curry. "The _real_ you told me that you want my help and I believe it, so I'm not going anywhere until you're back on your feet."

"How do you know it was the _real_ me?"

"Because you finally hit rock bottom and I could hear it in your voice. But that's okay, because now you have nowhere else to go but up," Tom insisted. And although Bill was careful not to show it, he marveled at how confident his life-coach was when he spoke; almost as if he could see the future and knew ahead of time that everything was going to be okay. "What is it?" Tom asked after realizing that Bill was staring at him.

"Nothing," the other man answered, but it was definitely something.

After lunch and having the opportunity to start building some trust in Tom, Bill began to feel more motivated toward getting his house cleaned up.

"So what do we do now?" he questioned

"I typically start this process with an introductory method. But we can skip it."

"Well, what is it?" Bill asked curiously.

"SCUM."

"Are you _calling_ me that or—,"

"Oh, no, no! That's my method. Anything Smelly, Crawling, Unusable, or Mildewed gets thrown away without a second guess. Then we sort through everything else."

"Why would any of my stuff be crawling?"

"You'd be surprised," Tom said quickly. His body tensed up as if recalling a foul memory.

"So I'm guessing my house isn't the worst you've ever seen then?"

"Oh no, far from it. But unfortunately, I've had to reject clients in the past because their homes were so overrun by fleas, rats, and human sewage matted into the carpets that I didn't feel safe inside. Your house may be crowded, but it's still very clean. I don't have to worry about contracting typhoid while I'm over here," Tom said half jokingly and to his amazement, Bill started laughing. "A lot of people would kill to have a smile like yours. You should use it more often."

"Whatever…" the other man blushed while looking away and trying to fight a grin that just wouldn't quit.

"Anyhow, let's start taking some inventory of exactly what it is you that you have. Then we can divide it up into what can be sold, donated, thrown out, or kept. Sound like a deal?"

Bill nodded, suddenly feeling very comfortable around his new life-coach in ways that he hadn't felt around any of the others or even Gustav. It was strange. But maybe he felt that way because Tom wasn't judgmental or hard to talk to. He didn't expect more than what Bill could provide and quite honestly...he had the makings of a decent friend.

"Deal."

* * *

It was almost 10 o'clock. Tom rotated his shoulders as a yawn pushed its way past his lips. He was just about to leave the bar when Gustav finally showed up.

"Sorry I'm late," he apologized and signaled for the bartender to circle around. "Johnnie Walker, please." Once his drink hit the counter, Gus took a swig of whiskey and let it burn all the way down before turning his attention back to Tom. "So did things go alright with Bill today?"

"He wasn't so combative this time."

"Good, good. I really do appreciate your help. Bill is like a brother to me and I just want him to get his life back together. He's had it so rough these last few years."

"Right," Tom nodded. "Well, you know how it is. You and I both have had plenty of cases where a loved one dies and whoever is left behind starts hoarding. Sometimes it's the only way they can cope."

"True, I guess it's just hard seeing someone that I care about go through it. But at the same time I totally understand him. He lost his boyfriend."

"How did it happen exactly?"

"Car accident. Andreas meant so much to all of us. I'm just glad I wasn't in the car that night or I might be just as fucked up as Bill is, ya know?" Gus asked rhetorically.

"Wait, so Bill was with him when this all happened?"

"Yeah, he didn't tell you?"

"No," Tom answered thoughtfully. He regretted not spending more time talking to his new client on an emotional level, whether or not Bill was actually ready to open up that far yet. Things had to be precise this time. There wasn't much room for error. This couldn't be another failure. And as much as Tom had been struggling not let his ego take control, he needed this case to be a winner.

Once he felt sober enough to drive home, Tom left the bar. After checking the mailbox, he let himself in and kicked his shoes off at the door. His first instinct was to have a quick shower and get some sleep, but he knew that couldn't happen just yet. Having a seat on the couch with his casework journal in hand, he began documenting his most recent session with Bill and making small notes to himself regarding what direction they should take next.

In the middle of it, Tom closed his eyes for just a second as he tried to assess everything. At least today his client had been more receptive. And if Gustav cared so much about him, maybe somewhere deep down…deep, _deep_ down, Bill was actually a nice guy. Tom smiled to himself remembering the sound of Bill's unexpected laughter and his smile that had remained a secret until that moment.

Re-opening his eyes with a sigh, the blond was surprised to find that his hand had traveled to his lap. He'd been touching himself absentmindedly. Whether it was by force of habit when he felt stressed or because he was thinking of Bill, he couldn't tell. Tom stared down at the tent in his pants, wondering if he should do something about it. He decided that the best answer was, no. If his arousal had anything to do with a client, he didn't want to encourage it.

"That's enough for now," Tom said to himself and packed up his casework journal. Entering the bathroom, he started undressing and putting his clothes in the hamper. But there it was again, more visible than ever, his erection. It was bigger now, glistening, and this time he knew for sure that it was in honor of Bill. He tried to shower without thinking about it, but that was damn near impossible. The warm, wet environment only frustrated him further. He closed his eyes and with a soapy hand, finally gave in to temptation, jerking his cock back and forth.

Within a few minutes, Tom wasn't in the shower anymore or even in his apartment. He was at Bill's house in the dining room. They were still in the middle of lunch and Bill was blowing him under the table.

"Fuck yeah…" he moaned, wondering if Bill was a spitter or a swallower. Well, this was _his _fantasy wasn't it? "Swallower," he whispered to himself, a smirk playing at his lips. The intensity of his stroking grew. Tom braced himself with one hand against the shower wall and—"Oh fuck!" he came. Panting desperately, the evidence of his orgasm slid down the drain.

After blow drying his dreads, Tom went straight to bed, feeling a little guilty about what he'd done in the tub. Bill needed a life-coach, not some pervert who spends the whole day with him then, masturbates to the memory of it. Oh well, it was just that once…

* * *

When she was sure that Tom's back was turned, Ms. Quinn slid a few items behind the couch for safe keeping.

"Rebecca," Tom said in a voice that let her know she'd been caught. "Why are we hiding things behind the couch, Rebecca?"

"But how did you—?"

"I can see your reflection in this broken mirror you were supposed to get rid of yesterday," the blond said as he turned around to face the woman. "Kind of ironic, isn't it. If you'd gotten rid of it when you were supposed to, I probably wouldn't have seen you try to sneak all those things behind the sofa."

He was absolutely right.

"Okay, fine," the curly haired woman agreed. "I'll toss'em," she said with a little resentment in her voice.

"Remember, you're on the very last leg of the clean-up process. You're doing this for yourself and for your children."

"Right." Rebecca was a client who had temporarily lost custody of both her daughters recently and really couldn't afford to keep slipping back into her disease if she ever intended to get them back from foster care. She didn't have the luxury of taking her time like Mrs. Romanowski or other clients. Things were urgent. "This is for my kids. This is for my kids…" she repeated, the words as they gradually became her mantra.

In the mean time, Tom helped relay trash bags to the industrial-size dumpsters outside, giving him a break from the odors _inside_.

People on the street were staring, neighbors gawking, all of them wondering how a human being could allow their home, their sanctuary to become a glorified garbage pail. None of them understood it, but honestly neither did any of the hoarders themselves. That's why they needed someone like Tom in their lives; someone who could help them make sense of the insanity.

It took three consecutive days, six dumpsters, two yard sales, a crew of twelve workers, and a very determined life-coach, but as of Thursday afternoon, Rebecca Quinn's case had come to a close. Tom did a thorough run through of the woman's home several times and once he felt satisfied by its condition, he began signing a referral form.

"Oh thank you, God!" Ms. Quinn cried out as she watched him put pen to paper. His signature had the power to cut through months of legal red-tape. A referral from the Adult Welfare Department meant that she was ready to see a social worker and start the process of getting her children back. "Thank you so much!" the woman exclaimed.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" Tom requested, more than happy to hand over the referral and get back to the office. It was hot as hell that day and some decent air conditioning without the smell of rotting garbage was a must. Sitting at a stoplight and drumming his index fingers against the steering-wheel, his eyes glanced to the side of the road. A white car was parked at the shoulder. The hood was up and it had obviously overheated. He saw a hand reach up and slam the hood back down, giving him full view of the owner, who seemed completely frustrated as he held a cell phone to his ear. "Bill?" Tom raised his eyebrows slightly. Merging into the slow lane, he parked behind the white car.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks," Bill said into his cell phone before hanging it up, his eyes studying the vehicle that had just pulled up behind him.

"You need help?" asked a familiar blond as he climbed out of his car.

"My hero," the other man teased while folding his arms over his chest. "Do you ever get tired of rescuing me from myself?"

"Depends on what it is I'm saving you from this time. What's the problem?"

"Everything probably."

"No offense, but I never really imagined you driving something like this. I mean, you have a pretty classy job, live in an affluent neighborhood…"

"So why am I still driving a '98 Volkswagen with no rims?" Bill gave half a shrug. "Because it was _his_," he admitted, referring to Andreas.

"You lied to me," Tom said sternly. "I asked you to tell me about everything you've been hoarding. And you—,"

"I know already!"

"Do you? Bill, if you're not gonna be honest with me about everything, this is never going to end."

"I made a mistake, okay? I'm sorry. I should've told you about the VW. I'm obviously paying for it now." Just then, a tow truck pulled up in front of Bill's car. "Hang on a sec. I have to take care of this. Tom nodded and watched as his client exchanged words with the tow truck guy. After making arrangements to have his car towed to a mechanic's garage, he snagged a ride home with Tom. "Thanks again for the ride."

"No problem. It gives us a chance to talk."

"About?"

"Andreas."

"I already told you. He died," huffed an irritated voice

"Gus told me you were with him when it happened." The color drained from Bill's face and gradually his breathing became more rapid. "Are you okay?"

"Just let me out here."

"Why? We're almost in the driveway."

"Just stop the car!" Tom complied after being yelled at. Bill opened the passenger side door, practically running down the sidewalk, up to his home. After a couple of frantic tries to unlock the door without success, Tom took the keys away and unlocked it himself. Bill stared him in the eye. "I'm home. You can leave now," he growled.

"Not until you talk to me. I need you to open up about—,"

"Fine! You wanna know everything goddamn thing? I killed him, okay. I killed Andreas. Still wanna help me? Hm?" Tom was at a complete loss for words. Bill…killed someone?

"What?"

"Just forget all of this, alright? There's a reason why I developed this stupid fucking illness. This is Karma. This is what I get for killing my own boyfriend. And you were right. I have hit rock, bottom. I do want help, but I don't deserve it," Bill declared after walking into the house. "So just leave me the fuck alone." He slammed the front door. Caught off guard once again by the other man, Tom stood frozen on the other side.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: This story is completely fictional. The use of famous persons (members of Tokio Hotel) within the storyline is not meant to cause any harm; Hustler Magazine, Inc. v. Falwell, 485 U.S. 46 (1988).

* * *

Confession

"Open the door, Bill!" Tom demanded, slamming a fist against the wooden panel.

"No!"

"Look, don't bullshit me. If all that stuff really happened you'd be in jail."

"I may not be behind bars, but they all still blame me, ya know. Andreas' parents, his friends, even Georg. I'm better off dead. It should've been me who died!"

"Hey, hey. Don't say that," Tom urged. Out of 97 cases that he'd worked on, only 2 of them had been complete failures and both were suicides. The blond came very close to the door and began to speak more gently. "I'm not here to judge you or blame you for anything. We all have our demons, but they shouldn't control us the way you're letting them control _you_. Please, let me in." There was a long silence, but Tom knew that Bill was still close by. He could feel the other man's energy radiating through the door. "My word is my bond, ya know. I'll come back here every damn day if I have to and you don't want that. So why don't you just open up already. I'm not going away until your case is settled!"

Slowly, the doorknob turned and Bill's face became visible. He looked both mad and apologetic at the same time.

"Come in…" he muttered. Tom stepped past him with a sigh of relief.

"We really do need to talk, Bill. I think we need to get to the base of some things."

"Well…" the other man started before looking tentatively in the other direction as if maybe he'd heard something. Then Tom heard it too; meowing. "It's the boys, they're hungry," Bill said before exiting the room, his life-coach following close behind.

Bill went straight to the kitchen. "Chico, Jellybean, come eat," he called out after grabbing a bag of dry kibble.

Tom's eyes wandered to the dining room. Seeing it made him think of what he'd done last night, fantasizing to thoughts of him and Bill together. He felt his cock twitch a little and although it felt good, it made him nervous; mostly because the twitch was starting to evolve and he could feel the beginnings of a healthy erection. Doing his best to shield it by leaning against the counter top and pretending to find interest outside the kitchen window, Bill had already caught on that something was wrong.

"It bothers you now, doesn't it? Knowing what it is that I told you about my boyfriend? Knowing that I killed him?"

"No, not at all," the blond insisted while peering over his shoulder at Bill.

"Then why won't you face me?"

"I just uh, I've got kind of like a muscle cramp or something right now. It really hurts so…it just feels better to lean like this for a while."

"Have you been working out a lot recently?"

"Uh—yeah. I must've over done it this time," Tom laughed nervously. "Now my back hurts."

"Want some tiger balm? I can rub it on your back if you can't reach."

"Oh, no, no. Heh…I'm okay. Really," Tom smiled, hoping his face hadn't turned as red as it felt. Taking a few deep breaths and thinking about his grandfather a in a lace teddy, his erection became flaccid again. Finally, he was able to turn and face his client once more. "So tell me who _Georg_ is."

Bill paused for a moment, temporarily forgetting that he'd even mentioned that name earlier. He'd rarely spoken it since the accident.

"A friend. He was in the car with us that night. He didn't die, but that was the last I ever saw of him," Bill answered somberly. "Can I show you something? I know we're not exactly friends, but I don't get to share things with many people anymore. I mean, we don't always have to talk about hoarding, do we?"

"No, it's okay. What is it?"

"Follow me." Walking back through the living room, Bill led the way up to his home office. "Have a seat," he nodded toward an empty chair. It only took a minute for him to pull out a large box from the closet and set it on the floor. Smiling just a little, he began sifting through whatever was inside before picking out a black, leather-bound binder and putting it on the desk. "This is us," he pointed to the first page inside. There was a newspaper clipping from several years earlier. Below a photo of four teenage boys, a caption read:

_Tokio Hotel members Bill, Gustav, Georg, and Andreas; formerly known as Devilish._

The entire article was written to debut the band since their name change and new found success outside of their home country.

"You guys look really happy."

"We were," Bill nodded, flipping through the innumerous laminated pages of the leather binder. "I don't know how many hours I must have wasted clipping all of these damn articles out of newspapers and magazines, but I'm glad I did. This was when things were normal, before all of _this_," he spread his arms out, gesturing to clutter around them. "Before I ruined everything."

"Tell me more about George. You say you never saw him again, but he's still alive."

"The physical yes, but the soul…no. He broke both his wrists in the accident, which may not seem like a big deal, but it is when you play an instrument. It was so bad he could barely even hold a bass the same again," Bill explained. The look of regret on his face was almost painful to witness. "Afterward, I think he just couldn't bear to look at me anymore. I ruined everything."

"You keep saying that, but how? What was it you did exactly?"

Bill seemed as if he was struggling to find the appropriate words before finally opening his mouth.

"I was driving the car that night. It was a convertible, my first splurge as a big star, ya know? Anyway…I was also drunk. We all were. I ended up slamming into the guardrail on a sharp turn and the car flipped. Andreas wasn't wearing a seatbelt so he got thrown right out of it. Georg broke his wrists trying to brace himself. All I remember is waking up with glass everywhere, but hardly a scratch on me."

"Well, if all this is true, how am I sitting here talking to you? Shouldn't you be in jail?"

"Although I confessed, the actual evidence was inconclusive. I even had a shady lawyer who kept trying to prove that Andreas was in the driver seat instead of me. But there was no way in hell that I was gonna use him as a scapegoat just 'cause he was dead. Anyway, I only spent a couple of days in custody at most." Bill put his hands to his face before looking directly into Tom's eyes. "I did the right thing didn't I? I shouldn't have just let people think my boyfriend did it? I loved him too much."

"Yeah, you did the right thing," Tom repeated. This was such a heavy topic. He didn't have anything original to say. "I know this is painful, but help me understand why you keep hoarding. Why do you buy things for Andreas when you know he can't use any of it?"

"Whenever I see something that reminds me of him, I just…I can't help myself. I like to buy things that I know he would have liked, things I know we would have bought as a couple."

"Have you dated anybody since him?"

"I've hooked up a few times. Nothing serious. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you know, because you're filling this big…void with stuff instead of people," Tom explained. "And, uhm, you need to recognize it."

Yeah, _that's_ why he asked…

Bill nodded his head thoughtfully.

"You're probably right," he agreed while carefully re-collecting his memorabilia and tucking it away again. "I'm feeling kind of low tonight. Would it be too much to ask you to stay for dinner? I don't wanna be alone."

* * *

Gustav involuntarily spit out his coffee, spraying it all over the front of his shirt.

"Wait, where are you going?" he practically screamed through the receiver. Just moments ago he'd still been half asleep while answering the phone, but now he was fully awake.

"I'm on my way to meet with Georg. So I won't be coming into the office today."

"Georg? For what? How do you even know where to find him?"

"Calm down," Tom insisted. "After talking to Bill last night, I feel like this is something I have to do. Bill needs closure. He obviously can't do that with Andreas, but maybe Georg can be of some use."

"Where are you?"

"I'm gassing up at the station near work. Why?"

"Just sit tight for a while, okay. I'm coming with you." Gus hung up the office phone and stared down at his shirt. "Fuck!" he cursed while trying to do damage control with a damp towel. This wasn't the first time he had found himself chasing Tom around the four corners of the earth for a client. And he probably should've expected nothing less on account of how he'd begged the other man to help Bill.

Grabbing his jacket, Gustav stopped himself in the hallway for a moment. Seeing Georg again was going to be difficult. There was so much bad blood between them and he wondered if Tom's interference might do more harm than good. The last thing he needed was for Georg to get angry and retaliate by harassing Bill. Andreas's family and friends had already badgered him enough in previous years.

A quick glance at his watch told him it was time to go.

"It's now or never," he said to himself. "Time to face the music."

After delegating a few of his morning responsibilities to other people in the office, Gustav headed for the gas station across the street. Tom was parked near the tire pump, leaning against his vehicle and eating a breakfast sandwich that he'd bought inside the station.

"Morning," Gus greeted him. Mouth still full, Tom just raised his chin in acknowledgement. "I didn't get to eat breakfast. Is that thing any good?"

"Hell no," Tom answered while choking down another bite. "It's got like, some type of artificial cheese and…and I'm assuming that the rubbery stuff is ham…or cat," he sneered while tossing the remainder of it in a garbage pail.

"Listen Tom, this might get ugly. Our friendship with Georg didn't end well," the other man confessed.

"How ugly?"

"I said some things to him that can't be taken back. I'll never forgive him for the way he treated Bill after the accident. They were all drunk that night. It could've been any one of them that crashed the car. And obviously, it wasn't like anyone was trying to stop Bill or else they wouldn't have gotten in the car with him. I'll never forgive the way he just bailed when things got tough, like he was completely innocent or something," Gustav spat, his face turning pinkish with old anger and old memories.

Tom nodded at his frustration.

"Well, let's hit the road. The sooner we get this over with, the better."

Both men climbed into Tom's car silently, each lost in their own thoughts about what might happen that morning. Tom tried not to feel too overwhelmed, but he was already in so deep. Damn his impulsiveness. He bit back a groan realizing just then that he didn't have much of a game plan.

"Oh, shut up," Gustav finally broke the quiet.

"Huh? I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to. You've got that 'have I gone too far?' look on your face," the other man explained. "But you _always _go too far. Don't act like this is something new. Just do your thing, okay?"

"My _thing_?"

"Yes, that thing I hate. The one where you get overly competitive. Then, I start losing my hair because you keep crossing boundaries and I worry that I might have to fire you."

"Oh, _that_ thing," Tom rolled his eyes with amusement.

"This one time and I mean _one_ time…I give you permission to do it. One time," said Gustav, while attaching his seatbelt as if he expected Tom to suddenly start doing doughnuts in the parking lot before burning rubber toward Georg's house.

During the drive, Tom kept thinking about Bill. It wasn't unlike him to feel adamant about helping a client, to want to rescue them at all costs. The satisfaction, the gratification, the high he got from victory was empowering. Victory was a big slap in the face to all of the nay-sayers and bullies that he still had to work with. It meant he was good at something and that he deserved respect.

But when it came to Bill, his motive had somehow become a lot more sincere. His ambition was less about conquest and more about compassion. It probably had a lot to do with Gustav's involvement. Tom was doing a favor for a very good friend and that made this case feel so much more intimate.

It was a two hour road-trip to Georg's home. When they found him he was on his way into the house, obviously just returning from a night shift at work. He was dressed in a policeman's uniform with a hat tucked under his left arm.

Leaving his friend behind, Tom left the car.

"Hello," he smiled his way up the sidewalk.

Georg turned his attention away from unlocking the front door and to figuring out who the grinning idiot was on his porch.

"I'm not interested in buying anything from you."

"Well, good. 'Cause that's not why I'm here," the blond said while digging a business card out of his pocket. Georg studied it a moment before looking over at the car parked against his curb. The passenger inside looked familiar.

"What's this all about?"

There really was no easy way to compact four years of Bill's recent history into a brief summary or to explain that he believed Georg held the key to solving Bill's hoarding addiction. But whatever it was that Tom said, the other man didn't seem surprised by the details. Instead, his face was turning pail and noticeably more damp as sweat beaded around his hairline.

"I know it must be hard, but if you could find it in your heart to forgive him, maybe—,"

"I didn't realize it had gotten this bad," Georg spoke softly while wringing his hands together. His behavior was puzzling. The way Bill had explained things, Tom expected a lot more resistance from his former friend. "I did a bad thing. A really bad thing," he confessed to no one in particular. He hadn't meant to say it; the words just seemed to slip out as he struggled to keep focused. He knew a day like this might come, a time when his past would finally catch up with him and that time was now.

The sound of a car door opening and shutting brought both men's attention to Gustav. He was coming up the sidewalk slowly, but steadily. Upon reaching the porch, he took a firm stance in front of Georg. Tom pushed himself between the two men, forcing his friend to remember that this visit was about Bill, not settling old scores. He and Georg looked into each other's eyes not saying anything at first, barely even breathing. The tension between them felt so thick that a hug seemed like the last thing on their minds, but that's exactly what happened. It was a long, silent, healing embrace. This was all for Bill wasn't it? Gus just had to keep thinking of Bill…


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: This story is completely fictional. The use of famous persons (members of Tokio Hotel) within the storyline is not meant to cause any harm; Hustler Magazine, Inc. v. Falwell, 485 U.S. 46 (1988).

* * *

Bad Blood

Georg was the first to pull away. He was crying and looked embarrassed of himself as he wiped away the tears. The last conversation he'd had with Gustav had been more of an argument than anything and he dared not dream of the day when his old friend actually initiated a hug.

"Come inside," Georg finally said, inviting the other two men into his home. After offering them each something to drink, they sat in the living room. It was small, smelled a little bit like dope and vodka…or a lot actually. Upon getting a better glance at Georg's uniform, Tom saw that he wasn't a policeman, he was a security guard at a shopping mall. The other man looked very clean, but he also looked like he drank too much. Life had been hard on him.

No one said anything for a while. Tom wanted to say lots of things and _ask_ lots of things, but it was obvious that Georg and Gustav had some unfinished business that they needed to take care of first.

"Forgive me for not knowing what to say," Their host began.

"_I_ have something to say," Gustav replied, a tinge of anger finally showing up again. Hug or no hug, he was still mad about something and needed to get it off his chest. "You know why we're here, so let's just skip to the chase."

"Go on," Georg sighed as if they'd been down this road before.

"I wasn't in the crash that night, so I'm not gonna try to pretend like I know all of the dynamics. But why didn't you stick up for Bill when everybody was pointing the finger at him? None of the evidence suggested that Bill was the driver!"

"Well—"

"His left shoe was found wedged under the dashboard and his hair and blood were on the _passenger _side window," Gus interrupted, jumping right to the point as if their last conversation on the matter had never ended. "Somehow, I don't think it was him driving. Now why is that?" He asked sarcastically

Georg shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He kept his eyes on the carpet.

"Because you _know_ who it was…"

Gus blinked for a moment. His chest was heaving, heart beating a mile a minute. Perhaps this was the moment he'd been waiting for; the confession he'd been aching to hear, four years in the making.

"I need to hear you say it."

Tom kept his mouth shut, eyes focusing from one person to the other as their exchange of words became more dramatic. He was sort of afraid to move.

Silence.

"I loved Bill," Georg closed his eyes momentarily. "I loved him so much. I loved all of you guys so much, you gotta know that," he breathed, thinking about what Tom had explained to him in terms of Bill's current life or lack their of. "You guys meant the worl—,"

"Just say it already!" Gustav interrupted again.

Georg ground his teeth together with frustration.

"It was Andreas, okay?" he finally blurted out, tired of being cut off.

"I knew it! I always knew." Gus rubbed at his forehead while slumping back against the sofa. "Why'd you do it, man? Why'd you let everyone think it was Bill?"

"It wasn't like that. I didn't mean to. When I was in the hospital for a month straight and Andy's mom came to visit me everyday, you didn't see how hurt she was, how angry. She—,"

"Oh, so that made it all okay huh?"

"Will you shut the _fuck_ up?" Georg slammed a hand against his the armrest beside him.

Tom touched Gustav's elbow and gave him a knowing look.

"Let's let him finish," Tom said. "Please, keep going," he encouraged.

"Like I was saying…" the other man started over again, obviously irritated. "She needed someone to hate and I didn't want it to be her dead son. I couldn't tell her what really happened; that Andreas had drunkenly killed himself and almost killed the rest of us too," Georg shook his head. "At the time, it seemed better to just pretend like I couldn't remember anything."

"But Bill could have gone to prison! He made a confession!" Gus yelped.

"No, no, Bill's lawyer said the police led him into that confession while he was still drunk and scared, like brainwashing him or something; probably because it happen in _his_ car, so he'd be easiest to blame. But anyway, it wasn't admissible in court. They had to go strictly by evidence." Gustav didn't look convinced. "Well, that's what happened isn't it?" Georg tried to defend himself. "Besides, I eventually _did _try to tell the truth. I called Andreas' mom a couple weeks after the funeral."

"And?"

"And she didn't believe me. She accused me of just trying to cover for Bill. Next thing I knew, she was dragging both of our names through the mud to whatever tabloid would listen. After that I skipped town. I got tired of reporters following me home to get 'my side of the story' then distorting all of my words in their next article."

"Well, if you're so damn truthful, why didn't you tell me any of this sooner?"

"Would you have given me the chance?"

"Yes!"

"Oh really? You mean like today? Like just now? You never did know how to fucking listen," Georg snapped. "Thank the gods I'm a different person than I was four years ago or I probably would have just let you monopolize this whole fucking conversation like you always used to. Newsflash, you don't know everything and you're not always right." Gus swallowed hard. He was visibly shaken by what the other man had said. Georg reached onto the coffee table for a pack of cigarettes. "If it's an apology he needs, I'll give it to him," the man insisted while lighting up. "I really am sorry and I want him to forgive me. But get off my fucking back, will you?"

Stiffly at first, Gustav turned to see Tom's reaction. Bill was _his_ client now after all. And it was Tom who had gotten the ball rolling this far, no sense in shifting gears now. Part of him wondered why he hadn't thought of doing this himself. No, he already had an idea as to why, but he couldn't face that right now.

"Thanks," Tom said after standing up and extending a hand to their host. He could tell that if they stayed much longer things really would get _ugly_. Georg looked mad as hell and Gus looked…lost. "We'll, be in touch," the blond smiled. He'd gone out of his way to seek forgiveness on behalf of Bill and here Georg was asking for the very same thing. Go figure.

Despite the clash toward the end of their visit, they left Georg's house feeling hopeful, especially Gustav. He'd been watching Bill's miserable existence collapse into itself since day one, and had developed anxieties of his own by way of association. Now the nightmare was so to close being over for both of them and he owed most of that to Tom.

"Say, how about we get some lunch?" he asked. "My treat."

* * *

It was almost noon and Bill was staring at his phone again, wondering if he should call Tom. Yes, he had already been at the house the previous day, but would it really hurt to just make an appointment with him, exchange a few words, talk to someone other than himself for a change?

However, if he really wanted to call Tom, he should have done it earlier. Maybe the blond could have talked him out of buying the new washer and dryer set that he'd seen in a department store.

"Transaction Approved…" blinked the register screen.

"Here you go," the saleswoman smiled while handing back Bill's debit card. She tore away the foot long receipt from her register and stapled it to a copy of his delivery slip.

Putting his phone away, he gave the paperwork a quick once over before allowing himself to exhale.

"Thanks!" Bill grinned, feeling elated and accomplished. "Have a good day!" he finished while heading for the exit. He'd scheduled the delivery for that afternoon and needed to get home soon. The entire way there, Bill sang along to the radio, smacked on his favorite bubble gum obnoxiously, and generally acted like a 16 year old on his way to a hot date.

The delivery truck showed up sometime around four o'clock. There obviously wouldn't be any room for the washer and dryer to make it through the front entrance, so Bill stood by while the first piece of his new set was wheeled in through the side gate.

After making it in through the back door of Bill's home, the deliveryman spoke up.

"So where's your laundry area? Do you need me to do the hook-up too?"

"Oh, no. Just put them with the others," Bill waved to one side.

"Others?" The man looked to his far left and saw a small collection of other washers and dryers among other things, in what used to be a den. "Uhm, uhm…okay," he agreed slowly, feeling as if he had just stumbled upon the filling of a secret, mass grave. When he was finished bringing both appliances around, he had Bill sign the store copy of his delivery slip and evaluation sheet. Subconsciously, the man made sure that he did so in broad daylight, near the delivery truck, where anyone could see if Bill tried to murder him and dump his body in the washer-dryer grave yard. "Have a nice day. I hope you enjoy all your washers. I mean, washer and dryer. Bye," the man fumbled with his words.

Normally, Bill hated having strangers in the house, hated gawkers. But he still hadn't come down from his high yet. The euphoric feeling that he got from a big buy like this would last at least a few hours. Smiling like an idiot, he waved goodbye the deliveryman.

* * *

Tom did a breath check before popping another mint into his mouth. Rounding the next block, he pulled up to Bill's house just in time to see the delivery truck back out of his driveway. His client had a grin slapped across his face as he waved goodbye. After parking at the curb, Tom quickly climbed out of his car.

"Bill!" Suddenly, the other man froze. He stopped waving and ran inside the house like a child. Tom chased after him. The door was locked. Of course. "Bill! Open up, dammit! What are you, five years old? Don't run from me!" Remembering that he may have seen the side gate open as he pulled up, Tom ran to investigate. He made it all the way to the back door without being seen and snuck in. "Bill…" he growled after finding the brunette in his living room, peeking out of the drapes.

The other man whipped around, looking absolutely terrified.

"I'm sorry! I didn't know you were coming over today—oops." He shouldn't have said that last part. Tom had just given him the speech about honesty yesterday and already Bill was fucking that up. In this case, hiding something was the same as lying. "Please don't be mad."

"I'm not _mad_, I was just surprised, disappointed. And what made you run like that?"

"I dunno, I guess it was the way you said my name. I had a flashback of my mother catching me with matches or something. I knew I was busted," Bill admitted with a sigh.

"Well, for what it's worth…that was funny as hell," Tom cracked a smile. "I've never had a client run on me before."

"Really?" Bill grinned with a short laugh.

Oh, no. Not that laugh again. Its rarity made it seem exotic and the sensation caused Tom's skin to flush.

_Grandpa in a teddy…Grandpa in a teddy…_

"I talked to Georg today," Tom said abruptly, forcing himself to remember why he'd come over in the first place. "Me and Gus drove out to his house."

"What? Why would you do that?" Bill demanded to know. "You don't have the right to go digging up people from my past. That's an invasion of my privacy!"

"I had to."

"No. You need to leave. Now!"

"Wait a sec—hey!" Tom dodged an oncoming vase full of flowers. It broke against the back wall and water pooled around his sneakers. He wanted to make some sort of joke about how cliché this moment was, but by that time Bill had already picked something else up. A stapler, a mug, a half empty water bottle, they all came flying in Tom's direction. The blond fought through it, arms shielding his face as something large and orange came flying at him. He caught it just before impact. "A Garfield plushie? Are you serious?" he asked, feeling insulted that Bill had started this entire, ridiculous fight only to half-ass it toward the end. In his mind he equated it to making love with someone who suddenly came too quickly and then just rolled over.

Tom grabbed Bill before he could pick anything else up, wrestling him to the ground. He sat on top of the other man, holding his hands behind his back.

"Get off of me!"

"You've had four years to do things your way and now we're going to do them _my_ way. Look at this fucking room, Bill! You're so concerned about privacy, but if you ask me, your entire life is nothing but a private fucking hell!" he yelled. Suddenly, Bill stopped struggling as much. Tom exhaled with relief. Ordinarily, this position might feel sexual, but right now he just felt exhausted and didn't know how much longer he could keep Bill pinned down like this. "You get me?" he asked.

The room was quiet except for the sound of ragged breathing.

"I'm still mad at you," confessed a small voice. Bill's body vibrated while he spoke, serving as an accidental parting gift against Tom's groin, just before he forced himself to dismount. The blond stood up and Bill rolled onto his back before coming to his feet again. His eyes looked a little red. "Sorry," he said, watching as his life-coach rubbed a sore spot on his shoulder. "Got you with the stapler there, didn't I?"

"Ya think?"

Bill gave half a shrug.

"So what did he say?"

"Who?"

"Georg. I mean…does he still hate me?"

"No. I don't think he ever did." Bill rolled his eyes. "I'm serious."

"Well, did he look like he was doing okay? What kind of job does he have now?"

"Uh…law enforcement," Tom fibbed a little. Saying alcoholic mall-cop would only reinforce the other man's theory about ruining Georg's life.

"That sounds good. He was always the strong type."

"Why don't you ask him all this stuff yourself?" Tom dug out his cell phone and found Georg's name in the directory. Bill looked intimidated by the prospect. The blond took his hand and gently pressed the phone into it. "Call."

Tom kept his distance, but stuck around for moral support as he heard the conversation between Bill and Georg start to pick up. It had begun with uneasy small talk, nothing very productive. But now that Bill had gotten passed the shock of actually hearing the other man's voice again, he seemed to be asking questions and giving more than just yes or no answers to Georg.

Busy documenting in his casework journal, Tom fell asleep….

He almost jumped at feel of Bill's hand on his shoulder.

"Shit, you scared me!" he said holding a hand over his chest. "So, you're done talking to Georg already?"

"Yeah."

"How did it go?"

"Really well," Bill nodded, taking a seat next to Tom. "I'm so glad you arranged it for me."

"Oh, it was nothing."

"Don't say that," the other man insisted. Sitting there, they were closer than they had ever been; eyes gazing into one another. Tom's lips felt dry. He licked them. Bill smiled and tilted his head to one side, his life-coach copying the action just as their mouths came together.

Tom slid his tongue inside of Bill's mouth. Was that a piercing? Yes.

"We probably shouldn't," he said.

"But you deserve this."

"But if someone finds out—Oh god…" Bill's hand was gently easing down his zipper and he sat on the floor between Tom's legs.

"We just won't leave behind any evidence," the brunette assured him. "I'm a swallower. Don't you remember, Tom?"

"Uh."

"Tom? Tom…"

SMACK!

"Tom! Wake up already!"

"Huh?" the blond was startled awake by the sound of his name being called and a hand slapped against his bad shoulder. "Ow…" he griped, rotating it a bit. Bill sat down next to him.

"I ordered a pizza if you're interested."

"Oh, okay, sure." Tom felt grateful that his casework journal was still open and covering his lap. "How uh, how did the talk go? With Georg," he stammered out.

"I don't wanna talk about it right now," Bill sighed. "Are you okay? You're face is all red." The doorbell rang. "Pizza boy. I'll be right back."

After dinner, they ended up back in the living room, trying to organize whatever they could.

"Thanks for helping me sort through all this shit."

"That's why they pay me the big bucks," Tom joked.

"Really? How much do you make as a life-coach."

"Almost enough to eat everyday and buy toilet paper."

"Oh, shut up!" Bill teased. "It can't be that bad."

"It is. I mean. Not that it's _bad_. This is just one of those jobs you have to have a passion for."

"Do you think Gus does?"

"Uh, I dunno. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's no coincidence that I'm a hoarder and he works with hoarders for a living."

"Yeah, I meant to ask about that if you don't mind."

Bill shrugged.

"In the beginning, things weren't this bad. Yeah, I had a hoarding problem, but I caught it myself and tried to get help through the AWD. I used to go to the Monday night support groups, sometimes Gus would tag along. It didn't shock me when he got a job as a life-coach, but I was never really convinced that he actually wanted to do it," Bill shook his head. "He would've been in the car with us during the accident if he and Georg hadn't gotten into an argument that night. Now I think he just feels emotionally obligated to go through all of this with me; like he needs to suffer too."

"Kinda like survivor's guilt?"

"Yeah."

"Kinda like _you_?"

"Well, no…"

"Yes," Tom nodded.

"No, not at all."

"Think about it, Bill. Your entire band was affected by the accident except Gustav. His job is how he makes himself a part of it, how he shares the pain. And honestly, I kind of get the feeling like maybe it didn't matter what Georg had to say to you today. Just like it didn't matter that the court found you not guilty. You're mad that you made it out with just a few scrapes and bruises. Blaming yourself for 'ruining' everyone's life is how _you_ share the pain. You and Gus both feel this imaginary obligation to be in _pain_."

"I don't wanna talk about this anymore."

"Of course not, you'd rather stay in denial."

"Shut up!"

"I think that deep down inside, you know you weren't driving that car."

"Shut _up_! Enough!" Bill felt another panic attack coming on. His breathing quickened and he felt his chest tightening up. Glaring over at Tom, he repeatedly opened his mouth to speak, but shallow breaths kept him from saying anything. Words or no words, his face said it all.

"Bill. Look at me, Bill. If you tell me to leave one more time, I'm gonna bitch-slap you."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: This story is completely fictional. The use of famous persons (members of Tokio Hotel) within the storyline is not meant to cause any harm; Hustler Magazine, Inc. v. Falwell, 485 U.S. 46 (1988).

**Warning:** Alternate Universe, non-Related Twincest, Homoerotic themes, language, and psychological angst.

* * *

See You At the Crossroads

"I can't believe you did that," Bill put a hand to his face while staring into the guest bathroom mirror.

"Isn't there some sort of life-coach code of conduct that prevents you from hitting me like that?"

"Oh, please. I think you and I are way past morality codes," Tom replied while leaning in the doorway. "And just to be fair, I _did_ warn you."

"Have you ever done this to anyone else?"

"Off the record?"

Bill flipped around with a surprised look on his face.

"Oh my god, you _have_."

"Look, I'm sorry," Tom apologized while walking forward.

"Here," he offered up a sandwich bag full of frozen peas. The other man raised an eyebrow. "It's better than using ice, trust me."  
Bill squished the bag of peas against his face, finding more comfort and less burn than ice. Part of him hated the fact that Tom had been right. Tom was right about too many things.

"The thing is…" Bill started out of no where. "I remember being in the driver's seat. I remember," he softly emphasized, finally ready to open up a bit more.

"All the police evidence and phone calls to old friends in the world can't change that. I wish like hell that it could, but it can't."

"Oh, Bill…"

"It's okay though, 'cause you know what? I'm tired of 'sharing the pain', it's not helping anyone, just hurting the people that love me. I've gotta find a way to beat this," he finished.

"Wow."

"What is it?"

"You just grew up right in front of me. What happened to the impatient little brat who practically had a melt down the first time I came here?"

"Oh, shut up!" Bill snapped playfully and threw his bag of peas at the blond. It hit him in his shoulder.

"Ow!"

"Oh, shit!" Bill crossed the distance between them and rubbed the sensitive spot he'd just pegged for the second time that day.

"Why, Lord? Why does he throw things? Ohhh…" Tom groaned while staring up at the ceiling.

"I'm so sorry. God, there must be such a big fucking bruise there by now," the brunette worried out loud. He picked up the bag of peas again and held it to the blond's body.

"You smell like lavender," Tom breathed, feeling an erection coming on again. His mind wanted to fight it, but for the first time, his dick was winning.

"Yeah, I use lavender oil for my anxiety attacks. Back in the living, that was probably the first time I've ever gotten through one without my vile."

"Maybe you don't need it anymore."

"Yeah, next time I'll just have you put your hands on me and it'll go away," Bill joked in reference to being slapped. Tom smirked at the comment, watching as Bill suddenly blushed with embarrassment. "Wait, that came out sexy. I mean, sexual…what I meant to say was—hey, don't look at me like that. That slap probably rattled my brain around or something!"

"Does it still hurt?" asked Tom as he stroked Bill's face with the back of his hand, just testing the waters, but almost immediately pulling back afterward.

"No, don't be scared…" Bill protested before cutting himself off. He suddenly seemed just as frustrated as Tom. It'd been so long since he felt this comfortable with someone. "We're not allowed to, are we?"

"No."

It was quiet for a moment, the air heavy with carnal desire, curiosity, and mischief. Bill walked out of the bathroom casually, looking over his shoulder once or twice as he headed toward the living room again. Tom took the hint and followed him up stairs.  
The master bedroom was the only clear space in the house, save its overfilled closet.

Bill hardly waited for the other man to pass through the door, pawing at him immediately. Tom was already kissing his neck and palming his ass with both hands. Licking his way up to his client's chin, their lips came together for the first time.

"Fuck!" Bill moaned, simultaneously accepting a curious tongue into his mouth. He walked backward until his legs hit the bed, pulling Tom down on the mattress with him. Removing their clothes became second nature as they undressed one another; Tom finishing last as Bill forced his underwear down. "God, I can't wait to be inside you," he growled, reaching a hand around to the blond's ass and flicking his middle finger over the tight hole.

"Uhh…" Tom jumped a little and his eyes flew open. He really hadn't expected that. Really.

"Huh? Oh! Oh…" Bill stopped for a moment. Submission just wasn't his style and he was surprised that Tom hadn't figured that out by now.

"Sorry, I thought—,"

"No, no. It's my fault. I shouldn't have assumed."

"Well, it's been a while, but…"

"Let's just see what our chemistry's like, okay? Then we'll figure it out," the brunette smiled into another kiss. It was so sensuous the way Tom worked his mouth; lips taunting, tongue questing. Most men weren't so orally playful. "Suck my cock," Bill breathed impatiently. He needed that mouth all over him. "I have condoms in the nightstand. Suck it and I'll let you fuck me." The blond bit his chest. "Ah! Yeah…" Bill dug his hand into a sea of dreadlocks as they sank down his body and centered between his legs.

Tom applied the customary pre-blow licks before casting his mouth down Bill's entire length then, working upward in a spiral motion, over and over again. Bill squirmed a little each time he made it to the top. Tom dotted the tip of his tongue into the tiny hole that was leaking a semi-clear liquid; salty and tangy in nature. He wanted more of that.

"Suck a little harder!" begged a needy voice. Bill tried not to skull fuck the blond. His hips bucked suddenly as Tom licked his balls and fisted his manhood.

"Lean back more. And raise your hips up." Tom widened his partner's legs, giving one more lusty suck to his erection before letting it go. He felt Bill shiver as the crown finally left is mouth then, again when Tom's tongue met the cleft of his ass. He licked up and down, concentrating much of his time at the sensitive spot between the other man's opening and his balls. A talent for rimming was something he'd always taken pride in, circling the pink entrance, toying inside as deeply as possible.

"Oh my god, your tongue is long—uhhh…"

The blond wasn't in a rush. He kissed and licked until Bill was begging him to put his fingers inside. Slicking two of them up with his spit, he gently began to insert them. Rimming for so long had made his partner very relaxed and well lubricated for entry. A third finger joined its brothers; all of them sinking just deep enough to barely stroke the prostate wall without overstimulating it. Tom wanted Bill's first orgasm with him to be while his cock was fully sheathed and pumping into that very spot. Finding a group of Trojans in the nightstand as promised, he tore open a foil packet and rolled the slick rubber down his manhood.

"Is this good? Do you feel ready?" the blond asked, a finger still inside of the other boy.

"Yeah, I'm ready. I'm _so_ ready." Climbing back over the brunette's body, they began to kiss again. Tom felt a pair of legs wrap around his waist. "Put it in." Bill held on as his body was penetrated and relished in the pleasure of being filled.

"You feel good. Tight."

"Do it harder." Eager hands rubbed circles at Tom's back, encouraging him to keep snapping his hips as rapidly, as deeply, as passionately as he wanted. Bill moaned uncontrollably. He'd always been the loud type.

"Fuck!" he arched upward from the bed. That last thrust had struck him in a way that almost provoked a pre-mature orgasm. The brunette tried to reposition himself in effort to prolong a climax. His head fell to one side and he began to blush at the sight of his ex-boyfriend's photograph.

"You okay?" Tom panted into his ear.

"Can we stop for just, for just a second?" Bill stammered out against the intense rocking. Resting for a moment to catch his breath, he quickly reached for the picture and walked it to his home-office. "Here," he whispered, gently placing it on the desk. "I still love you though. This is just sex, okay? He's just a friend." No response. "He's gonna help me stop holding onto stuff we don't need and stop collecting it. But I'm scared…"

"Bill, are you alright in there?" Tom asked from the other room.

"I have to go now, Andy. I'll be back for you later." Bill returned to the bedroom, finding Tom flat on his bed and looking tired. "You wanna get some sleep?"

"No. I'm just relaxing. But I thought we'd compromise a little."

"Uhm, okay…"

"You're gonna be on top," Tom explained, stroking his manhood back into full stiffness.

"Oh, goodie," Bill tried to smile. Haha, very funny. Sitting cowboy style was _not_ topping, this was still bottoming and he really didn't feel like impaling himself on Tom's lap. That position had always been his least favorite. It was generally uncomfortable and his ankles always hurt after pumping up and down for however long. Andreas was only the second guy he'd ever done it with and when he died, Bill swore he'd be the last. Yet, here he was, climbing on top of Tom's lap. The only reason Bill hadn't outright refused was because he knew that all the driving and fighting with a semi-deranged client was most likely beginning to take its toll on the blond, but his pride wouldn't let him admit to being tired. He owed it to the poor guy. Bill exhaled smoothly as he lowered himself down Tom's shaft. It helped that they had already fucked, but still felt awkward going in. "Uhh!" the brunette quickly braced himself. He hadn't expected his partner to thrust into him like that. "Uhh!" he yelled again.

Tom adjusted himself and gripped the other man's hips before propelling his body upward into short, quick thrusts. Bill was moaning almost twice as loud as he had earlier and it wouldn't have surprised either of them if someone called the police.

"Oh, fuck!"

"Holy shit! This is so good…Oh god—Oh, god—Oh, god!" Bill would've came if Tom hadn't suddenly changed their rhythm to a gentler, more sensual, ocean-like undulation. "Fuck you!" he slammed his hips down. Tom grabbed one of his nipples and twisted it a little, forcing Bill to still himself and just enjoy the ride.

"Stop rushing."

"No! You don't understand I've never…Ohh!" the brunette let his words fall short as he slammed himself down over and over again. It had never felt good like this. Bill's thighs suddenly locked up and he cried out one more time as semen fired from the head of his cock. Rope after rope of the pearl matter stretched onto Tom's chest, some reaching so far as his chin. He could feel the other man convulsing beneath and knew instantly that Tom was coming inside of him.

"Oh, babe. That was…that was…"

"I know," Bill panted, completely wide eyed and surprised at himself. In a way, he had just lost his virginity. This was honestly the first time he'd ever come while sitting on top. This god-awful, exhausting position had been absolute bliss. "I can't believe I just did that…" he said to himself.

"Me too..."

"What?"

"Mixing business with pleasure. Fuck. This is _so_ not the way that I'm supposed to be helping you."

"No, what I meant was…I mean. Yeah," the brunette finally agreed, even though it wasn't exactly the whole truth. He pulled away from Tom's lap gently. "I'll go get a towel." Partially closing the bathroom door behind him, Bill turned the water faucet on and splashed his face before staring up at the mirror. At first it felt good sharing a bond with Tom, but now it was beginning to feel scary. What would happen to his relationship with Andy? "Get a grip," he pleaded with his own reflection, knowing damn well that question wasn't even valid anymore. Hadn't his fucked up house been proof enough that it was finally time to let go?

Bill wet a hand towel and went back to the bedroom. Tom had propped himself up on a couple of pillows to help himself stay awake, but that plan had failed miserably. The condom they'd used was in a nearby wastebasket and he was fast asleep. Bill sighed to himself, having a man spend the night in his bed was another first for him; at least since Andreas anyway.

"It was just sex…" the brunette whispered to himself. He sat on the bed gently and started to drag the wet towel across Tom's body.

* * *

"So please, people, no more writing each others names and numbers on the bathroom wall. This isn't high school. When you come to work, leave your problems at the door. Thank you," Gustav concluded another weekly meeting. He was disappointed that Tom hadn't attended and went looking for him straight afterward. "There you are," he announced upon entering the copy machine area. "Where were you this morning? We had a meeting."

"Oh, sorry. I slept kinda late. Tired."

"Well, I hope you got enough rest. I have a couple cases that I'd like you to take a look at. The first one is pretty routine, but you'll have to work with animal control on the second. Carlos was working it for a while, but he gave up last week."

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse."

"Just put the files on my desk when you get the chance. I'm sure I can find a way to work them into my schedule."

"How's Bill by the way? I hope you convinced him to call Georg."

"Uh, yeah," Tom blushed, thinking about why he'd been late to work exactly. The blond hadn't meant to spend the night like he did and without the usual wake-up call from his alarm clock, getting to work had been a struggle. He'd been tempted to just wear the same clothes as yesterday and rush to the office without stopping home first, but Gustav would have noticed and started asking questions. "He's gonna need some time though."

"I understand," Gus nodded. "Well, back to work."

Tom really didn't like keeping secrets from his boss, especially being that they were friends. And he didn't regret spending the night with Bill, but he was still mad at himself for it anyway. He thought about the way Bill had rushed out of the room with Andreas' photo to spare him any hurt or disappointment. It made him jealous. Tom couldn't remember the last time anyone loved him like that. Maybe he had to die too for someone to love him like that. Maybe it would never happen. And despite the fact that they had actually _made_ love, Bill was obviously unavailable. He was still dating a dead guy.

* * *

Bill forced himself awake, barely conscious of the fact that he was alone at first. He vaguely remembered locking up when Tom had left the house early that morning before dragging himself back to bed. But the blond had such a strong presence that even when he was gone it felt like he was still in the room. Sitting up in bed, Bill stared at the impression that Tom's head had left against the pillows and he leaned forward to press his face against them. Yep. His scent was still their too.

Looking over at the vacant space on his nightstand, Bill realized that he'd nearly forgotten all about his boyfriend's picture. Normally he might have felt poorly about that, but right now he was feeling calm and took his time heading into the office. Upon entering the room, he frowned at how narrow the space was. He was losing places to store new things.

"Hey, Andy," he yawned at his boyfriend's photo. Squinting his eyes, glass looked like it could use some cleaning and the silver frame was beginning to tarnish. He had some polish under the kitchen sink to remedy that. Descending the staircase, Bill suddenly came to a stand still as the hoard below confronted him in the menacing way that it did every morning. He couldn't draw any comfort from it and that made him feel like buying something. Despite what anyone may have thought, nobody knew how hopeful all of the boxes, excess furniture, and miscellaneous items that practically barricaded the front door actually made him feel; how less lonely it made him believe he was. Even if the sensation was fleeting, buying something new would always bring it back again.

Bill clutched Andy's picture toward his chest when his feet finally hit the ground floor, again trying to hide something from his boyfriend. Whether the photo was really him or not didn't matter, it was a representation of him and Bill didn't want to disgrace that. He used to feel that because everything was technically organized that it wasn't such a problem, but that delusion always evaporated when he was feeling guilty, or bored, or lonely…

God, he wanted to buy something.

Walking through the artificial walls of purchases past was dizzying to say the least. He heard purring from somewhere.

"Here, kitty kitty…" Bill called. He couldn't wait to get some comfort from his cats, but from what he could tell, they were too busy playing with each other and being in love to notice him. "Fuck you then," he sniped in their direction. After sprucing up Andy's photo, he set it on the dining room table with him for breakfast. "There, that's better," he smiled, turning the frame just a bit to make sure that it wasn't facing any of the hoard.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: This story is completely fictional. The use of famous persons (members of Tokio Hotel) within the storyline is not meant to cause any harm; Hustler Magazine, Inc. v. Falwell, 485 U.S. 46 (1988).

**Warning:** Alternate Universe, non-Related Twincest, Homoerotic themes, language, and psychological angst.

* * *

Three Magic Words

"You okay?" asked officer Martinez.

"Yeah, but I can't wait 'til this is over," Tom breathed. He was covered in mud and what he really hoped wasn't dog shit.

"He didn't bite you, did he?"

"No. I think he was just excited to get the fuck out of here. That's why he jumped for me."

"Yeah, I hear ya," nodded Martinez. "I'm just glad the owner was finally willing to give up most of these animals. My team should be done with her for a while. Well, minus any court hearings in the future. You on the other hand…"

"I know," Tom groaned and shut his eyes for a moment.

"I've gotta go back in there."

"Good luck, buddy. You're gonna need it."

"Sure. Thanks…"

Mrs. Craig was still arguing with an animal control officer when Tom found her in the backyard. It was muddy back there, but she didn't seem to have a problem walking around in her house shoes.

"No, no. Jeffrey doesn't like that! Don't hold him by the scruff!"

"I thought you said the other one was Jeffrey," Officer Kale replied.

"Oh…" the woman paused for a moment, taking a closer look at the animal in question. "Well, then this must be—Charles. Yes, this one is Charles. He probably doesn't mind," she shook her head.

"Thank you," Kale gave an exhausted smile and placed another cat into a carrier. There was no way in hell, this lady knew the names of all 37 cats and 11 dogs that lived on her property.

"Mrs. Craig," Tom announced his presence. "Why don't we talk for a minute."

"Call me, Danielle. You thirsty? I have lemonade," she asked while walking back toward the porch.

"Uh, no, thank you." He barely wanted to breathe the air in her house, let alone digest anything from it.

They sat in the living room while Danielle nibbled on animal crackers and sipped lemonade. Tom could see a few cat hairs stuck to the rim of her glass and he felt pleased with himself for declining her offer. But what really made him cringe was the furry, greasy mess that spun around on the ceiling fan over his head. Had it _ever_ been cleaned? She seemed offended by the hospital mask he had opted to wear during their conversation, but he could care less. Besides, she needed to get real when it came to how severe her circumstances had become and he wasn't willing to beat around the bush about it.

"So you wanna take all my stuff, huh?" the woman asked defensively. "Do you know how many years it took me to get all this stuff?"

"I wanna help you out of your addiction and if that means selling, donating, or trashing things that you don't need, then yes. I want to remove a lot of those possessions from your home."

"What if I don't want your help? What if I just want to clean up on my own?"

"Have you ever tried to clean up before?"

"Of course I have. Why, just the other day I threw out lots of stuff."

"Oh, yeah. I can tell," Tom replied sarcastically and gestured to the filth that surrounded them. His client seemed angry as she struggled to think of a worthy comeback. "Look, I'm not here to beat you down. I'm here to help you up. But if all of this works for you, getting animals taken away, losing your home, possibly facing jail time; okay then. But if you would like a shot at a better quality of life, I will be your friend. Cause this isn't easy, is it?" Tom softened his tone. He'd didn't mean to start out so crudely, but her house and her attitude problem could drive anyone to aggression.

"No," the woman admitted. She looked like she might cry. "I used to have _other_ friends…lots of them. But they abandoned me," Danielle affirmed angrily.

"Or maybe they loved you. And seeing you like this really hurt them."  
There was a thoughtful pause between Tom and his client.

"But what if you help me and it doesn't work? What if I can't be helped?" Fear of failure. It was a common theme among hoarders.

"It's like that old saying, there's no chance unless you take one."

"Yeah, I guess that does make a lot of sense. Where'd you hear that from?"

"Popsicle stick," Tom nodded lightly.

"Oh. Well, it's still pretty good advice. Alright, I'll take a chance with you. But not too quickly, okay? I'm kinda nervous right now and, and…"

"Today, I'm just here to introduce myself. What we do and when is up to you."

"Well, I got another notice in the mail. It says I've got six days before the law starts taking action."

"Then, we'll do it in five," Tom shrugged. "And you're not alone in this. I just met with another client this morning. Many people suffer from chronic hoarding. That's why I'm here to help, alright?" The mask still covered his mouth, but Danielle could tell that the blond was smiling by his eyes.

"Okay," she smiled back. "Five days."

When it was time to Leave, Tom couldn't smell anything anymore. His nose hairs had long burned off by the ammonia smell from the cat pee. But it was an odor he'd learn to get used to. For the next week, he and clean-up crew found themselves battling the debris inside Mrs. Craig's home. It had been painful. She cried everyday because all of her stuff had to be thrown away. No single donation or sale could be made due to the poor condition of every item.

"Can't we just hose it off? Someone could use this?" she plead over and over again. Watching as all of her belongings had their value questioned, she felt as if _her_ value was being questioned too. But there really wasn't much you could do for a microwave that couldn't pass any portion of the SCUM test or a sofa with holes in it where the cats had been nesting. And those were the _nicer_ items.

By day six, there was almost nothing left in the Craig home. Tom showed up bright and early just as the Sherriff arrived to evaluate the progress.

"Looks good. So she's cured now. No more problems, right?" asked the Sherriff.

"No, probably not," Tom shook his head honestly. "But we do bi-yearly inspections and she's agreed to meet with a therapist on a regular basis."

"Well, you're the expert, I guess. But she's still got a court date."

"I'll be there,"

"I made you some cookies, Tom," Danielle whispered, not wanting the Sheriff to hear while he continued to look around her home. She didn't like _him_.

"Cookies…oh…" the blond tried his best not to look disgusted. "Well, thank you," he smiled and accepted the plastic wrapped plate.

"Talk too you soon!"

"Yeah okay. Ewe…" he muttered that last part. But it wasn't the first time a client had given him a gift like this and he knew just how to handle it. At work, he put it in the lounge next to the coffee machine and left a bright post-it note on top with his name and "don't touch," written in big letters.

At lunch, Gustav stood in the doorway, watching as everyone else stole Tom's cookies and made jokes about it. He was eating a cookie too, but not from _that_ pile. He knew better.

"Those are poison, right?" he asked when Tom walked by.

"Yep."

The blond had one more case for the day with a very orderly, but neurotic woman at the William's house.

"And this one, I got it at the 1964 World Fair in Springfield," explained Merriam as she gave Tom a grand tour of her living room. A million eyes stared back at him. She was a doll collector. "I named her Molly. She looks like a Molly, doesn't she?" the woman asked while fiddling with the doll's red hair. "Molly the dolly! Oh, that just tickles me," she laughed. But Tom didn't find anything funny about this situation. He'd never been the type to be afraid of porcelain clowns, ventriloquist dummies or to even flinch at movies like Child's Play. This case however, could change all that.

"The eyes…they sort of follow you around the room, don't they?" he asked. Every wall was equipped with dozens of display shelves and it began to feel like they were closing in on him.

"Yeah, I guess they do! Isn't that comforting? It's like you're never really alone."

"Right…"

* * *

It was 5 o'clock by the time Tom got back to the office, just a half an hour to go before closing.

Gustav found Tom sitting in his cubicle, just fiddling with one of those erotic pens that has a girl inside who becomes topless when you turn it upside down.

"Workin' hard or hardly workin'?" he asked Tom smugly.

"Don't judge me," the blond began, without ever taking his eyes off of the pen. "I just spent the last three hours combing doll hair and arranging them in boxes with bubble wrap."

"Oh, that's right, the William's case," Gus smiled. "Did she make you use one of those _wittle_ pink Barbie combs?"

"Fuck off."

"Awe. Did you _wike_ it?"

"You know, the only way I could even convince her to get rid of them was if I could find a Children's hospital who would accept them as a donation or something. So next weekend, I have to go back, finish packing them all up then, ship them to some unsuspecting child and his or her friends," Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Poor bastards," Gustav teased, but the other man didn't seem to be amused in the least. "Listen, why don't you take off early?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I think I can manage the last thirty minutes here by myself," Gus rolled his eyes. "I mean it'll be a stretch but…"

"Alright, alright. I'm outta here."

Small or not, Tom was grateful for the extra free time. There was some unfinished business to take care of with Bill and both of them had been avoiding the subject since its creation. So far they'd only spoken briefly over the phone about their last encounter, opting to save that conversation for a better, less busy, more convenient time, but it was just one excuse after another. And although it probably went without saying, whatever had happened between them that night couldn't happen anymore and he needed to be clear about that.

Tom skipped his usual exit on the highway and continued until he was close to Shenandoah. The lush trees and decrease of heavy traffic told him he was near. Pulling up to Bill's place, he was surprised to see the other man out in the front yard, just staring up at his home. It took a minute for him to realize that a car had driven up, but when he did, the brunette worked up a small smile.

"Hey," he waved.

"What's going on? Why are you outside?" asked the blond as he met Bill on the sidewalk.

"I can't go back in there. It's too…crowded. I think I'm gonna stay in a hotel tonight. I was just about to leave before you pulled up."

"Wait, back up. You can't go in the house because there's too much stuff? How long have you felt this way?" Tom asked; his expression changing with concern.

"It's no big deal. I just get like this sometimes. I start to feel like, like I don't belong. Like all the stuff has finally pushed me out." It scared Tom to hear this. Abandoning one's home to seek comfort someplace else was a coping mechanism that very few hoarders actually allowed themselves to sink to and when they did, it was almost irreversible. Sometimes it started with a client just leaving their home occasionally to stay with friends, family or in hotels for temporary relief. Eventually, most would run out of money or wear out their welcomes. But Bill was wealthy. He could buy an entirely new home to fill up and as crazy as that idea was, other hoarders had done and Bill might too.

"Anyway, I better get a move on. It's a holiday tomorrow and the hotels lose their vacancy pretty quickly the night before."

"No. Stop giving away your power. _You_ own the stuff in the house, not the other way around."

"Easier said than done," Bill shrugged. "I'm sorry, Tom." He backed off slowly, turning toward the white car in his driveway.

"Please?" the blond tried again as he watched his client settle into the VW and adjust his seatbelt. If they'd been inside, he could have tackled the other man and tried smacking some sense into him again, but because they were on the front lawn, Tom had to be on best behavior. He watched helplessly as Bill put the key in the ignition, yet to Tom's delight, the engine wouldn't turn over.

"Shit…" that word had come out louder that he'd meant it to.

"Car trouble?" Tom smiled his way over. For once, he was happy that Bill had hung onto his boyfriend's old VW.

"No. It just needs a little…" Bill stopped mid-sentence as he tried starting up the vehicle again. After the third try, the engine powered up. "See!" he grinned while shifting into reverse. "I told y—fuck!" The engine cut out again. "Okay, okay. I know what to do," he said, flipping a few stray hairs out of his face and trying a different method. But now it seemed as if his situation had somehow worsened.

"You're flooding it…" Tom teased in a sing-song voice. "Face it, this thing's a lemon."

"Fine!" Bill gave up and slammed the car door after climbing out. "I can always call a cab," he explained smugly and began thumbing a few numbers on his cell phone."

"Or…" the other man started as he snatched the device away.

"Hey!"

"…how about we go for a drive? We can talk and it'll give you some time to think about why running away from your problems only makes them worse," Tom said softly. "How come all that _stuff_ gets to have a home, but _you_ don't? Why are you the one that has to leave?" Bill was practically making himself homeless, couldn't he see that?

"Fuck, there you go making sense again…" the brunette folded his arms in a huff. Tom was smiling at him. "Don't fucking looking at me like that, you asshole," he rolled his eyes. "Just take me somewhere already."

"Where would you like to go?"

"Anywhere. Anywhere but here."

Tom must have lapped the city at least twice before either of them even started to notice how much time had passed, but he didn't mind. It had only later occurred to him that he wasn't getting paid for this 'session' and he'd killed about fifteen dollars worth of gas already, but that was okay too.

"You feeling any better?" asked the blond.

"Sort of. But…I think I still wanna get a hotel room, even if just for one night. I'm sorry, Tom. I know you really tried."

"That's alright. It was worth a shot."

"Would you stay with me?"

"I dunno, Bill. We might…"

"No, we won't. It doesn't have to happen again. I just don't wanna be alone. And you already look so tired. Do you really wanna have to drive me home, then drive all the way back to your place? Let's just get a room somewhere."

"Well…" Tom started to say. "But I'll have to get ready for work tomorrow and—,"

"It's okay. I understand," Bill interrupted, suddenly aware of how selfish and needy his behavior must have seemed.

"But you could always…" Tom's voice trailed off, surprised at what he was about to suggest.

"Always what?"

"I live around here. You could always stay at my place. And I can drop you off at home on my way to work in the morning. It's just one night," he reasoned.

Bill thought about it for a moment.

"Can we stop at the supermarket first? I need to buy a toothbrush or something."

Tom made a left turn toward a local grocery store and from that moment, the line had been crossed, the very fine line that was struggling to separate his professional life from the personal. Bill was coming home with him.

They parked and went their separate ways in the supermarket. Bill headed down the toiletry aisle, while his life-coach carried a small basket toward the frozen food section. He hoped that Bill liked Palermo brand lasagna _"Now with new and improved taste!"_ 'cause that's exactly what they were having for dinner. Afterward, he went looking for Bill and wound up in the pharmacy area. Throwing some aspirin into his basket, he couldn't help but notice the row of condoms gleaming at him from the next shelf. He didn't have any at home.

Pulling a blue box down from the rack, Tom told himself that he was only doing it replenish his stock for general use in the future, but that was just a lie. He wanted to fuck Bill into the mattress tonight and that meant being ready for it.

"Ultra-thin, huh?" asked a stray voice. Tom's heart fluttered as he turned to one side. "Yeah, I always get those kind too," Gus nodded his head and pulled down the very same box of condoms for himself. Tom couldn't say anything, too many scenarios were running through his head at the moment and he was afraid of accidentally giving one away. "So you got a date tonight? Is she or—he with you," the other man questioned while looking around.

"No," Tom's voice finally came to him. "I'm here by myself," he finished quickly and put the condoms back.

"Well, whatever you're up to tonight, make sure that you wake up on time tomorrow. I've got another meeting planned in the morning."

"Yeah, sure, alright. Uh, I gotta go. Take it easy," Tom finished and turned in whatever direction might lead him away from his friend soonest. He finally caught up with Bill in a 10 item or less line.

"Hey," the brunette smiled. I was wondering where you were. "Your face looks flush. What's wrong?"

"Gus is here."

"Oh…" Bill suddenly paled.

"What've you got there, just a toothbrush and mouthwash? Take my keys and go wait in the car. I'll pay for everything. I don't want him to see us together."

"Right," the other man nodded and quickly made his way to the car.

Feeling as if he had narrowly escaped the chopping block, Tom left the store relieved that he had abandoned the condom idea. He risked seeming like a hypocrite if Bill were to know that he'd bought them just for this occasion, or feeling like an ass if Bill wasn't interested. Worse, he risked looking like a total jerk who had only invited Bill over for sex under the guise of friendship.

At home, they ate dinner like ordinary friends, talking, sharing stories about work. Bill didn't seem the least bit affected by the fact they'd slept together and that made Tom a little sad, but it was probably for the better. The blond's interest in his life was beginning to consume him and if he couldn't control those feelings himself, he was glad that Bill _could_.

Bill looked nice in one of the baggy shirts that he'd borrowed for the night from Tom's infinite collection. The blond was a hoarder himself in that respect and he liked the idea of Bill going to bed draped in something that belonged to him.

The sleeping arrangements were very platonic. Bill took the bedroom while Tom made himself _un_comfortable on the living room sofa. The clock on his cable box glowed 12:21. He tried to relax himself by doing what he always did when he needed to sleep. Tom reached a hand into his boxers and started stroking, gently fingering the tip of his penis until small drops of semen began to dribble from the head. He put his fingers to his mouth and sucked them. It felt so good and he wanted to finish, but his body was finally comfortable. It was time to get some rest.

Tom was startled awake and blinked his eyes in the darkness. The cable box glowed 12:57.

"Can we?" begged a small voice as weight settled on top of the blond's body.

"Bill?" Tom questioned. He reached out to feel the bare legs that straddled his hips and smooth buttocks. Whatever had become of the boxers he'd given Bill to wear was a mystery. All he could feel now was the big shirt that held Bill's modesty, but that curtain was slowly being pulled upward, up, up over his head.

"So can we?" the brunette whispered again, his question answered by a kiss.

Tom rolled his tongue in Bill's mouth. He was such an oral person by nature, it was a shame he didn't get to kiss Bill more often.

"Shit…" the blond cursed himself after pulling away abruptly. "I, I don't have any condoms," he exhaled. They had been in his hand just a few hours earlier and now there wasn't a single foil wrapper in the house thanks to Gustav's accidental intrusion.

Bill stroked up and down the side of his arm before saying the three magic words.

"I trust you." It was better than I love you. Trust was something that Tom dealt with on a daily basis and if anyone knew how hard it was to genuinely convince one human being to submit that feeling over to another human being, it was him. Love was something that just happened, trust had to be earned and Bill was the type that didn't trust anybody. "Did you here me?" Bill asked softly when Tom didn't respond for a while.

"I trust you too," the blond admitted. "Let's do it."

* * *

This will likely be the last chapter I post on fanfiction : (_** However!**_ I continue to keep posting on Tokiohotelfiction : ) I'm on that site more often, so it just makes more sense for me to post there in the future. Thanks for all the reads and I hope you keep reading my fic!


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: This story is completely fictional. The use of famous persons (members of Tokio Hotel) within the storyline is not meant to cause any harm; Hustler Magazine, Inc. v. Falwell, 485 U.S. 46 (1988).

**Warning:** Alternate Universe, non-Related Twincest, Homoerotic themes, language, and psychological angst.

* * *

Correlation is not Causation

Coming home felt less intimidating than it had the previous night. Bill just needed some time away, some time to escape from hell he'd built around himself. Still wearing Tom's shirt, he pulled the hem up to his face and breathed it in.

"Tomi," his lips smiled around the name. It was almost frightening the way they seemed to fit so well together. Slowly dropping to the couch, he thought about the things Tom had said to him after they last made love.

_"I want a different life for you, Bill."_

God, how those words haunted him. It wasn't as if he didn't want that same sort of difference for himself, but Bill wasn't sure that he knew _how_ to make that difference. Four years of living as a compulsive hoarder had become part of his identity; Bill the hoarder. He only thought of himself and his life in terms of how he could use his wealth to repent; in terms of how he could punish himself for destroying the lives of his friends and his former lover.

Bill used to know himself so well, which was something he couldn't honestly say these days. But working with Tom had got him thinking, wondering about the future instead of the past; because even if he didn't know himself anymore, it seemed clearer now than ever that _Tom_ knew him. Tom could interpret all of Bill's moves, knew how to push back whenever Bill pushed him away, and understood that his addiction hadn't started over night, nor would it end that way.

The only thing Bill knew for sure was that he couldn't live like this anymore, not after feeling so spiritually, sexually, mentally revived by Tom's confidence in him. But would losing the hoard mean losing his memories, his emotional connection to Andreas? It seemed like such a selfish thing to do, to want a good life after he had caused others so much suffering…

Or maybe he was damned either way.

* * *

Tom snuck into the back of the conference room, hoping that his sudden presence would go unnoticed. But just as he found an empty chair, Gustav apparently finished his speech and everyone began to clap. Tom gave a belated applause then, tried not to look like an idiot after realizing that he was the only one still clapping. As his coworkers began exiting the room, he attempted to follow after them, when a voice caught his attention.

"_Late_, Mr. Kaulitz!"

"Shit…" Tom said under his breath. "I'm sorry, man," he smiled weakly as his boss approached him. "I slept late again."

"Yeah, I'll bet," Gus smirked.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Tom, I found you loitering down the condom aisle last night. I think I can figure out why you haven't been getting much sleep lately." Tom blushed at the statement. "Anyhow, I've got some personal stuff to take care of. Oh, and Deputy Barra is in your cubicle by the way."

"Deputy who? For what?"

"Don't you remember? He wants to come get statements from you and Carlos on the Craig lady."

"Statements? But I don't understand."

"I think Ms. Craig might be getting ready to do some hard time, especially after all those new health code violations at her house. She had a relapse, ya know."

"What?

"Oh, didn't you here?"

"No!" Tom practically yelled and went barreling down the hallway to his cubicle. Turning the corner, he didn't see any deputy, but he _did_ see a small banner that read 'Congratulations!' and a cupcake inside of a Tupperware container.

"Psyche! Happy 100!" Gustav patted the other man on the back as he entered the small office.

"You fucker," Tom shook his head with a smile. "The ceremony isn't 'til tomorrow," he said, while removing the scotch tape that Gus had used as an anti-coworker safety-seal for the Tupperware.

"Yeah, but you're not the only one whose finally settled 100 cases and I don't want Tyreke or Megan to steal your thunder. I'm sure that no one is going elaborate on how it took them each over five years to get to this point, but you're barely working on your third. Not to mention the few cases that you've helped me handle in the past. So here's a little victory party in the mean time."

"Thanks, man," Tom pulled his boss into half a hug.

"You deserve it," Gus smiled briefly. "Anyway, I'm outta here for a few hours. Meet you back here around noon for lunch?"

"As always," Tom agreed and slumped down to the seat at his desk.

"Napkins…" he said to himself while rifling through the desk drawers. He was in the middle of a big bite into the cupcake when he realized that his phone was ringing. "Herro?" he answered with his mouth half full. It was Bill.

"Tom?"

"Yeah, it's me. Sorry. I was eating. What's up?"

"I just wanted to thank you for letting me stay at your place last night."

Tom looked around his cubicle and over the top to see if anyone might be eavesdropping then, settled back into his seat.

"It's no problem."

"Perhaps I could make it up to you Friday night? Take you to see a movie or something?"

"No…I sort of already made plans. Maybe another time?"

"Oh. Okay," the other man answered with disappointment.

"But, you could come if you want, to the ceremony that I'm attending. It's gonna be here at the office and might be a little boring, but you're more than welcomed to—,"

"Yes!" Bill said just a little too quickly. He shut his eyes tight, feeling a little embarrassed at his eagerness.

"Really? Okay, then. Can you show up around 6:00 o'clock? Or nevermind. I think I should just come pick you up. I don't think the Volkswagen is leaving your driveway any time soon," Tom thought out loud. "I'll call you before I get there, okay?"

"Okay. See you then."

"Bye," Tom smiled faintly. Hanging up the phone, he slapped a hand across his forehead. He'd had every opportunity to shrug Bill off up until this point and each time, all he did was invite the brunette further into his own life. This simply couldn't end well, but it was too late to turn back now.

Tom finished his cupcake, licked his thumb, and got back  
to work.

* * *

"Shit…" Bill thought out loud. "What the hell rhymes with vitamin?" He was in the middle of writing a jingle for a new Dethklok energy drink endorsement. "Fight again?"

Ding Dong…

The door bell rang just in time to break up his frustration. After looking through the peephole, Bill opened the door by just a few inches.

"Well, this is a surprise."

"May we come in?" his mother asked. Her son hesitated for a moment then, stepped to the side. Deep down, he knew that neither she nor Gustav had ever meant to abandon him, but after denying Bill any contact since the day of the intervention, that's exactly how he felt.

Simone stared around the living room before finally taking a seat on the couch. Gustav followed close behind. Not much had changed since she'd last been there. The house was still a maze of price tags and misery.

"I thought you weren't gonna talk to me again until I could prove that my circumstances _improved_. And I haven't exactly thrown anything away yet," Bill said, keeping his arms folded in a defensive stance. "I'm still a wreck."

"Not according to Tom."

"You talked to him?" Bill raised an eyebrow. He definitely hadn't expected her to say that.

"Well, no, but Gus evaluates all of his case notes. Right?" Simone insisted while turning to the other boy. He didn't say anything at first, just stared at Bill intently. "Right, Gustav?" the woman nudged him.

"Oh. Right."

"But I'll admit that I expected the place to be a little more…empty than this. What do you and Tom _do_ all day?" the woman questioned.

If only she knew…

"Why are you here again?" Bill rolled his eyes.

"We miss you. We wanted to see you."

"Okay well, you've _seen_ me. Guess it's time for you to get back to your care-free lives without me. So there's the door," he pointed.

"Bill," Simone tilted her head to one side with a hurt expression. "We didn't stop communication with you because we don't support you anymore. We just needed to support you in a different way and that meant backing off. The old ways just weren't working. You _know_ that," she tried to explain.

"I guess…" her son replied. He had a lump in his throat that stopped him from saying anything meaningful. His voice might crack and so with it, the facade of indifference that he was fighting hard to maintain.

"So you've been seeing this Tom person faithfully?" Simone tried to lighten to conversation.

"Yes."

His mother was glad to hear that, glad to know that her son honestly seemed to be following through with the AWD's hoarding awareness program. It seemed like maybe he was finally accepting the idea of working _with_ a life-coach instead of against them.

"Will I ever get the chance to meet him? I'd like to help in anyway if I can."

"Yes," Bill nodded. Part of him had actually wanted her to meet the blond for some time. There was a type of excitement produced from that idea, as he let his mind escape to visions of Tom as more than just a friend of sexual convenience. Dare he think it…a boyfriend maybe.

For the next half hour, Bill made small talk with his house guests over tea and a box of Little Debbie's. Gustav had been extremely quiet, Simone was just the opposite. Their visit was awkward, but pleasant and no matter how much resentment Bill still felt, it was hard to watch them leave.

Removing himself from a spot at the window, Bill took a deep breath and thought of an easy distraction from the sorrow.

"Vitamin," he said to himself, while gripping the pen on his coffee table. "Vitamin…right again…_something_ ten…"

* * *

The waitress made a few strokes of the pen that only the she understood before looking up from her note pad again.

"Okay, so that's one lemonade. And for you, Señor?" she asked in Tom's direction. "Anything to drink?"

"Do you have Corona?"

"Yes, of course."

"Alright then, I'll have that," he nodded, stretching his arms and back against the vinyl restaurant booth. The waitress disappeared and Tom turned his attention to Gustav. "Why are you so quiet all of a sudden? I mean, more than usual. It's creeping me out."

"When's the next time that you see Bill?" Gus changed the subject abruptly. His face seemed very serious.

"Should be tomorrow," Tom said, examining the complimentary chips and salsa before deciding against them. "It's 'sposed to rain for the rest of the week. Do you think that—,"

"Are you _fucking_ him?"

"Who? What?" Tom's heart pounded against his chest as his brain caught up with the subject matter. "No, never. We're friends, that's all. Less than that," he panicked.

"Well, Bill is my _best_ friend, Tom. You get that? If you mess this case up for him, I'll mess _you_ up. He doesn't need to be getting dicked by his life-coach. Our department isn't some gay hook-up service."

"Dude, calm down. Just because we're both attracted to guys doesn't mean we automatically like each other that way. Where's all this coming from?"

"You were late this morning."

"So?"

"I went to Bill's house this today and he was wearing a baggy shirt, just like the kind you always where. And last night at the store, I couldn't understand why you seemed so nervous around me, but now I get," Gustav replied. His face was a burning wall of crimson and his lips had almost disappeared the way he was pursing them together so hard.

"So let me get this straight…You saw me looking at condoms in the store then, I was late to work and later, you saw Bill wearing a baggy shirt…so that means we're _fucking_ each other?" Tom questioned. "Do you realize how stupid that sounds out loud?"

"I looked at your casework journal and the last time you came to work late, it was after an evening at Bill's house. Today, you're late again and then I see him wearing one of your shirts, like he slept in it or something; like you spent the night together!"

"Newsflash, I don't have a monopoly on baggy shirts," Tom huffed sarcastically, but inside he was almost paralyzed with knots for fear of Gustav seeing right through him.

"How do you even know the shirt was mine? Did it have my name on it?" he asked, remembering that there had been nothing extraordinary about the shirt other than its size; just plain and black. His questions were designed to make Gus feel ignorant, like he was just jumping to unfounded conclusions. Tom felt guilty about that, but it was something that he had to do if it meant keeping his secret with Bill. Gus was quiet for a moment, seeming less red with anger and more so with embarrassment.

Once his boss seemed to inwardly resign, Tom slowly let go of the breath he'd been holding. He knew Gustav wouldn't approve of his relationship with Bill because of what it meant in terms of his job, but hadn't even considered how much he might oppose it on a personal level.

"Sorry," Gus apologized just as the waitress returned with their drinks. Approaching the table, she could sense the tension between them.

"Ready to order?" the woman asked nervously.

"Yeah," Gus replied. "How 'bout a beer?"

* * *

It was around 6:15 when Tom arrived with Bill at the office.

"So how often do these things happen?" Bill asked.

"We try to do them quarterly. It helps to boost morale. Oh, and people like the free snacks," Tom explained as he escorted his client/friend/lover to the office. Most of the other employees were already there and mingling with clients that had also been invited to the ceremony.

"Do you get some type of award?"

"A certificate and I'll be eligible for a raise."

"Tom!" an older gentleman quickly walked up to the blond.

"Hey, Stu. You made it! Where's the Misses?"

"Doughnut table. They've got some good ones this time," Stuart nodded while adjusting the big glasses on his face. His wife had been one of Tom's very first clients. "Say, whose this fellow?"

"Stuart, meet Bill. He's a client of mine, but this is his first time at one of these things."

"Pleased to meet ya!" the older man extended his arm.

"Likewise," Bill offered his hand with a smile.

"New to the circuit, huh?"

"Circuit?"

"Sure, the Program Circuit. Well, let me show ya the ropes. Stick with me and you'll find out about all the free food and raffles and different free services that go on around this place," Stuart replied and put an arm around Bill's shoulders. "C'mon I'll introduce you to everybody."

"Uh…"

"There's a lot a chicks here tonight."

"Well—,"

"But don't touch April. She's with Doug!"

"O-okay," Bill resigned, allowing himself to be carried off while Tom just shrugged.

The conference room served as a common area for the award ceremony. A buffet of pizza, doughnuts, Buffalo wings, potato salad, and fruit punch spanned the side wall, while a collection of fold-out tables with plastic covers were arranged in the center.

Several life-coaches who had settled their first 50 cases, received their certificates first. Next was Megan and then Tyreke. Both seemed completely overdressed for the occasion. Tom took it as a sign of their pretentiousness. This was a rinky-dink get together geared at bringing coaches and clients together, not acceptance into the White House. Looking out at the crowd, no one looked happier for him than Bill. And no one looked more uncomfortable than Bill, who had been forced to sit with Stuart and his obnoxious friends.

After the ceremony, people continued mingling and re-visiting the buffet line. Tom went back to his desk with the embossed paper he'd received and slipped it into the top drawer.

"I probably have a frame or two…or five or six actually, that might look good around that certificate," said a soft voice as footsteps entered Tom's cubicle. The blond turned around with a smile, already knowing who it was.

"Yeah, I might have to do a little shopping at your house tomorrow."

"Or tonight…" Bill shrugged. He closed the distance between himself and Tom.

"No. Not here," the blond shook his head. Digging into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a set of keys. "Let's go."

* * *

Okay, so officially this will likely be the last chapter I post to fanfiction; at least until the entire story is complete. Thanks everybody who has followed along so far and reviewed or messaged me. Again, this fic can also be found on tokiohotelfiction under Crowded House, where I will continue to update regularly. Thanks!


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: This story is completely fictional. The use of famous persons (members of Tokio Hotel) within the storyline is not meant to cause any harm; Hustler Magazine, Inc. v. Falwell, 485 U.S. 46 (1988).

**Warning:** Alternate Universe, non-Related Twincest, Homoerotic themes, language, and psychological angst.

* * *

I, Tom Kaulitz

Gustav gently spun his cold coffee mug around on the desk. There was a fresh batch in the lounge, but Tom might be in there. For the last week he'd formed strategies to avoid the other man, still embarrassed of himself for accusing Tom of having a relationship with Bill. Sometimes they'd meet in the hall and smile briefly, but their pleasantries rarely went beyond that. Things were different between them now. Awkward. Gus knew that he was only making it worse by not talking to him, but that seemed far easier than actually starting up a conversation.

It was almost 6 o'clock. Work had ended twenty minutes ago, but Gustav found himself still sitting behind his desk, waiting until he could be sure that Tom had already left. It wasn't until he could hear the janitor's vacuum passing down the hall that Gus worked up the nerve to leave his office.

At home he readied himself for a second date with a girl he'd met in a bookstore, hoping her company would boost his spirits. But dinner turned out to be boring. His date talked too much about celebrity gossip and too little about who she was or why she had begged him to go to a restaurant that smelled like mold.

Picking up the check, Gus frowned at the bill. Sixty five dollars seemed like a lot to pay for lousy company and over-cooked food. Leaving the restaurant, he did a double-take at the host who had just changed shifts with the hostess that seated them earlier.

"Julian?" he asked.

"Excuse me?" the young man looked up with a slightly confused look. It wasn't him.

"My mistake. Have a good night."

"You too, Sir," the host smiled. For a moment, he looked a lot like Tom's old boyfriend. Damn. Now Gus was thinking about Tom again.

Upon dropping her off, Gustav's date had invited him in for "coffee." They kissed and he fingered her a little, but she was just too annoying to fuck. And he really didn't want to be guilted into a third date. There was enough guilt on his shoulders as is and the burden was weighing him down.

Gus could think of only one way to clear his conscience and that meant finding the strength to talk to his friend. He could feel sweat dampening the fabric under his arms as he drove to Tom's house. The other man's little apartment sat at the back of the complex in a quiet spot. Nervousness made reaching it feel like the longest walk ever made. Approaching the front threshold he could see that it was wide open, save the screen door. Almost immediately, Gustav was hit by the strong odor of smoke.

"Tom?" the man called after his friend. His blood ran a little cold when he didn't get an answer. "Tom?" he called more loudly, while opening the screen door. It was hot inside and the smoke smell was even stronger. He heard coughing. "Tom, are you okay?" Gustav rushed to the kitchen area where he found the other man hovering around the oven and trying to waft smoke out of the sink window with a kitchen towel.

"Oh!" Tom said, startled.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah—yeah. I uh—let's step outside. This smoke is burning my eyes," Tom ushered his boss toward the front door.

"There's no fire is there?"

"No—no. I burned dinner, that's all. Let's just—,"

"Tomi?" Bill came striding out of hall after smelling smoke. His hair was wet and draped over the shoulders of yet another baggy t-shirt. "Oh, shit…" he suddenly froze upon noticing Gustav's presence.

Gus blinked then, looked down at the brunette's bare legs, the thighs of which were just barely covered by his shirt, the only article of clothing on his body. Bill fidgeted and pulled at the hem of the material, making sure that it covered his sex before he and Tom both started to babble out fake explanations.

"This isn't what it looks like…Bill's shower broke…My house has rats, I had to come here…!" and so on.

"Oh puh-lease!" Gus yelled, not giving a damn if the neighbors could hear him. "If you're gonna lie to me, could you at least show me enough respect to do it well?"

"We're so sorry," Tom leveled with him.

"Yeah, sorry that you got caught!"

"No."

"Yes! But you know what, Tom? I'm not even mad at you anymore. Catching the two of you face to face like this, Bill, you're the one that I really blame! You are the most manipulative, self-centered, thoughtless—"

"Stop, don't drag him into this. It's my fault. I knew better. I had a million chances to stop it and, and…"

"Are you kidding me? This isn't the first time he's done this, ya know," Gus furrowed his eyebrows. "You're not special, Tom. Ask Bill what happened to his last life-coach. Ask him what happened to David."

"Shut up," Bill growled. He had a death glare in his eyes…oh, if looks could kill.

"What's he talking about?" Tom asked softly. He was feeling confused and little scared too. "Bill, tell me it's not true."

"Of course it's _true_!" Gus responded. "Did you think it was just some coincidence that everybody at our job happens to hate you except me, that everyone but me blames you for getting the last guy fired and taking his job? _Newsflash_!" he said, mockingly. "The only reason I didn't automatically hate you too was because I already knew that the real reason David got canned. It was because he got caught _fucking_ around with Bill!"

"Tom," the brunette pleaded. "Just let me explain—"

"Has he gotten rid of anything yet, Tom?" Gus interrupted. "I mean literally, _anything_; a chair, a desk, any of his 5,000 blenders?" Tom didn't answer. "Judging by that look on your face, I'm' guessing the answer is no. That's 'cause Bill doesn't want to get rid of anything. It's only a matter of time before he uses this little fling against you. At least that's what happened to David. All it takes is a sexual harassment claim and a little proof to back up the story. Right, Bill?" he asked. "I certainly hope he hasn't tricked you into leaving him any nasty text messages. Or has he?"

Tom looked horrified.

"Just let me explain," Bill tried again while taking slow steps toward the blond. "I care about you so much. It's not the same, okay? I didn't have the confidence to move forward back then. I didn't want to fail, so I sabotaged myself. But—,"

"Don't you ever get tired of conning people?" Gus interrupted again. "You oughtta be ashamed of your—,"

"Don't you ever shut the _fuck_ up?" Bill bit back. "Why is it that the only time you start talking is when you're dead wrong?"

"Leave," a small, pained voice finally severed the endless shouting. It was Tom. He looked he had died a little. "Both of you."

"But Tomi!"

"Please."

Bill nodded his head, fearing that anymore rebuttals would only make the situation worse. Turning toward the bedroom, he went to fetch his stuff.

"And to think I actually came here to apologize," Gus finished. "Pathetic." He left the apartment causally, but slammed the front door with anger on his way out.

Shortly afterward, Bill came out of the bedroom with pants and shoes on and the jacket he'd worn earlier, draped over one arm. Seeing the hurt in Tom's face, he broke down in front of him for the very first time; it was a first in front of _anyone_ for that matter. But now wasn't the time for pride, so he let his tears fall freely, which triggered a solitary stream from the corner of Tom's left eye to his chin. Bill tried to kiss his pain away, but his lips only met a wet cheek as the blond turned to face the other direction.

"Go home, Bill. I don't love you anymore," Tom forced the words out of himself.

They'd always been so careful about the L word, mostly, because they feared the consequences of becoming too attached. Bill imagined that Tom would get around to using it on him at some point…but not like this.

"Well, I _still_ love you," the brunette cried and walked off before his entire face melted away with tears and regret.

* * *

The next day, Gustav dreaded walking past Tom's cubicle to get to his office. If he thought running into the other man would be awkward beforehand, well, things were about to get even worse. To remedy an ugly confrontation, he got to work early and stayed in his office for most of the day. But at some point he knew he'd have to see Tom and that meant discussing the status of his employment. He'd give the blond two options: keep Bill and lose his job or keep his job and lose Bill. It was as simple as that.

At lunch time, Gus finally summoned up enough courage to meet with Tom. But when he got to the other man's desk, something was obviously different. All of the blond's personal items were missing and his company work phone had been left abandoned on top of his casework journal.

"Francine," Gus pulled one of the other employees to the side for a moment. "Have you seen Tom Kaulitz this morning?"

"Sure, he came in about an hour ago, but I haven't seen him since. Was he sick or something? He looked awful."

Gus raced back to his office and shut the door behind him. After calling Tom's personal cell phone and his house phone a million times, he still got no response. Something was about to go down.

Around 2 o'clock, a fax came in from Tom. A bad taste formed in Gustav's mouth as he read the first line.

"I Tom Kaulitz, hereby resign…"

* * *

Bill couldn't deal with two heartaches at the same time, so he immersed himself in work and surprisingly enough, in trying to empty out his house. For so long, he'd been hoarding to prove how much he loved someone, now he had to get rid of the hoard to prove how much he loved someone else.

Hands trembling, the very first item Bill attempted to get rid of was an outdated magazine. It was one of the last things he had seen Andreas hold before the crash. But what if it was the _very_ last thing he had held before he died? That question kept coursing through Bill's mind as he held it over the garbage can. What if somehow, part of Andreas' energy was still trapped in the magazine and if he threw it away—

"Fuck!" he yelled. It was thoughts like that that stopped him from throwing anything away. The same feelings arose when he tried to get rid of an old hair brush and a hat that Andreas never even liked to begin with. But Bill just couldn't bring himself to get rid of them. To make things easier on himself, he stuck to items that were post-Andy's death. It really was time to say goodbye.

* * *

Looking at the clock, Tom got ready for his date with Alex again. Carefully, he removed the tv dinner from his microwave and took it with him to the couch.

"Who is _Aristotle_, dumbass! Alexander was taught by Aristotle!" he yelled at the Jeopardy contestant. "Everybody knows that!" The sound of his phone ringing interrupted him briefly. It was probably Bill again.

Tom didn't pick up. It'd been a month already, so his calls had become less frequent. The text messages had stopped all together. And that was a good thing, but not quite good enough. During the commercial break, Tom made a phone call of his own.

"AT&T, my name is Judith. How may I help you?"

"I'd like to get my phone number changed."

"That'll be a $30 service fee. Is that okay?"

"Sure, just tag it to my account."

And that was the end of that. He never got another phone call from Bill. But almost three months later, Tom found a note on his car windshield. Before even reading it, the handwriting was unmistakable.

_"You said you trusted me once. If that was ever true,  
meet me at my house this Saturday, 10 am."_

Tom shook his head and balled up the paper. Ironically, he was madder at himself than at Bill. He felt like such an idiot; gullible, naïve, stupid. But the bond he'd shared with Bill had felt so real and the heart wants what the heart wants. All of the laughing they'd done together, the lovemaking, the hand-to-hand combat at Bill's house…he didn't regret a single moment.

But now that was over.

* * *

"It's still early, Bill. I'm sure he'll be here," Simone assured her son. She didn't know why he and Tom were at odds with each other, just that Bill missed him terribly and it was affecting his concentration at the yard sale.

"Why don't you take a break? Me and Georg can handle the customers for a while."

"Yeah, okay," the brunette sighed, handing over the cashbox. "But just for ten minutes. It's getting really busy around here." Bill was just about to turn away from the street when he noticed a familiar car cruising by. His jaw dropped. "Teh-Teh…!" he stammered out. "Tom!" When the car came to a complete stop, he hustled through the crowd to meet the blond there.

"How much is this?" a woman leapt in front of him with a scarf.

"Uh, I dunno, five bucks."

The woman's eyes nearly bulged out of her head.

"For Burberry? Got change for a ten?" she asked eagerly.

"What? No. I don't have time—it's free, okay?"

"Thanks!"

"Yeah, yeah, I gotta go!" Bill pushed his way to the street, ignoring whoever else had questions. But by the time he got there, Tom was gone. He walked up and down the street, desperate to see if he could catch up with the blond's car some how, but couldn't find it. He'd gone almost a block without even realizing it.

Returning home, Bill sat on the front curb and waited. Maybe Tom would come back. Five minutes he waited, then ten, then fifteen. The crowd was getting bigger.

"How much is this?" asked the same woman who had come up to him earlier. She looked hopeful that he'd give her another good deal on a DVD player.

"How much you got?"


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: This story is completely fictional. The use of famous persons (members of Tokio Hotel) within the storyline is not meant to cause any harm; Hustler Magazine, Inc. v. Falwell, 485 U.S. 46 (1988).

**Warning:** Alternate Universe, non-Related Twincest, Homoerotic themes, language, and psychological angst.

* * *

No _Real_ Loving You

Tom waded through the sea of customer's in Bill's front yard. A sale was the last thing he had expected to find there. Flipping a price tag or two, he ran his thumb over the grooves of Bill's handwriting. This was as close as the blond had been to him in such a long while. His heart hurt. He wanted to go home. But then his eyes landed on a familiar face, just a few yards away.

"Bill," he whispered to himself, a name he hadn't spoken in months. As if distance and faintness meant nothing, Bill suddenly turned to meet Tom's gaze, his hands clutching the cashbox and a fist full of change. His chest rose and fell in a frantic attempt to keep his body breathing.

"You came back," the brunette heard himself say. His voice was weak but clear as he forced himself out of the shock and steadily then hurriedly, ran to Tom. Dropping the cashbox beside them, Bill threw his arms around the blond's neck. Squeezing him desperately, he couldn't help but notice that Tom's embrace was loose with mild rejection. Slowly, he pulled away until their eyes met again. "I saw you earlier. But then you left and I tried to catch up with your car but—"

"There was no place to park. I had to make the block and try again," Tom explained frankly. He had shown up and that in itself was meaningful, but everything about him seemed so indifferent, so congruent to how he had been when they first met. Bill could sense that the intimacy between them had regressed and being back at square one was killing him inside. Why couldn't they just kiss already?

"Yeah, I've got a lot of business, way more than I expected."

"Well, I'm glad I came. I almost didn't," the blond confessed. "But this was worth seeing. I'm really happy for you."

"Me too," Bill grinned, hoping it might trigger the same expression from Tom. He so desperately wanted to see the other man smile, just a little even.

"Well, keep up the good work. And take care of yourself," Tom finished and slid a pair of shades back down to his eyes. "Bye, Bill."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…" the brunette grabbed a hold of Tom's shirt sleeve. Things were happening so quickly. "You're just gonna leave now? I didn't do this just for me, ya know. I did it for _us_. I wanted to prove that I had no intention of ever tricking you or getting your thrown off my case. I really did want you, Tom. I _still_ do."

"Bill…" Tom shook his head and gently pulled away from the other man's grip. He had a thoughtful look on his face, but remained quiet and turned back the way he came, through the forest of customers, to the edge of the yard.

Once the shock had faded, Bill picked up the cashbox quickly and trailed after him.

"Hey!" he called out, following Tom down the sidewalk. "Hey, I'm talking to you! Don't you pull this macho bullshit on me."

Tom didn't turn around, just continued to his vehicle and unlocked the door.

KA-KINK!

"Hey!" the blonde practically screamed at the top of his lungs and put a hand to his chest. Bill had thrown the metal cashbox at his car and the impact cracked his windshield. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"No, what the fuck is wrong with _you_? You can't possibly expect me to believe that the only reason you came here was to say 'Nice job, Bill. Have a good life without me—Peace !' and then just walk away. You're here because part of you knows that I never meant to hurt you; that the way we felt about each other was real. Stop acting like what we have isn't worth it."

Tom ground his teeth just loud enough for Bill to hear.

"Was it real with _David_," he asked bitterly.  
Bill paused for a moment, staring at the pavement. It would be hard to talk about David. It always had been, but this was the only way to redeem himself.

"Yes, for me it was very real. David was nice, he was someone to talk to; someone who didn't know too much about the accident and couldn't judge me; someone who came over everyday and made me feel good about myself again." Bill paused to fold his arms thoughtfully. "But when something seems too good to be true, it usually is and I guess he thought that because I had so much stuff…that I wouldn't realize when things went missing," he shrugged.

"What are you trying to say, that he stole from you?" Tom furrowed his eyebrows skeptically.

"The silver mostly; anything he could sell. I pretended not to notice at first. I thought that if I loved him enough he'd stop, but…" Bill's voice dropped off before jumping to the next thought. "I couldn't tell Gus. It was too embarrassing. At the time it seemed easier to let him think I had formulated some deviant plan to get rid of yet another life-coach with the harassment claim, but the truth was that I just didn't want anyone to know what really happened, that he'd made me into his fool and that I'd let him. No one ever used me like that before," the brunette said quietly. "The others had gone willingly; they said I was too difficult, but not David. I thought it meant he liked me…but he just wanted to my stuff. It wasn't _real_ for him."

The air between them remained still, stale, uncomfortable. Bill had bared his soul and he wanted to stay strong no matter what. But if this wasn't enough, he might just crawl back into the hoard and die.

"And you loved this guy?"

"Tom, please" Bill sighed. "Can't we just forget it? All that matters is that I love y—,"

"Do you know where he lives?" Tom demanded. Bill was taken aback by his aggressive tone.

"Well, yeah. Why?"

"Get in the car. Let's go."

"What? No! Tom! No, no, no…" the brunette shook his head, now realizing how upset the blond was. Tom hadn't been asking these questions to pick a fight with Bill; he wanted to pick a fight with the person who had used Bill, as old feelings for the other boy began to stir within his chest again. Stepping closer, he entwined their fingers with one hand. "Just take a deep breath," Bill coached him. "Believe me, David already got what was coming to him when he got fired, alright? The past is the past. I know that now. It's one of the biggest lessons I've ever had to learn."

Tom didn't say anything for a while. He just thought about the way Bill's fingers felt, tangled with his. The skin was soft and warm and familiar.

"I wish things could just go back the way they were…" he mumbled. His face was reddening and the glimmer of a tear began to slip from behind his shades.

"They can."

"No. You keep things from me. You don't trust me. Not really."

"I swear I didn't think that it mattered. I would've told you about if I'd known; if I'd thought that Gus would make you think that what I have with you was the same as what I had with David. I didn't even know he cared," Bill explained honestly.

Gus. That was another name Tom had neither spoken nor heard in months.

"I'll never forgive him," Tom sniffled.

"Don't say that. I was mad at him for a long time too, but let's get real. We were all keeping secrets from each other in one way or another. I didn't tell Gus the truth about David. He didn't tell you the truth about me, and you didn't tell Gus the truth about us. But honestly, we all had our reasons," Bill reminded him. He watched as Tom slowly removed his sunglasses and wiped a wet cheek with the back of his hand. "Why don't you come back to the house with me? I'll make you some tea."  
The blond nodded his head in agreement before a thought came to mind.

"Babe."

"Yes?" Bill smiled at the term of endearment. Babe. That one little word meant so many other words. It meant acceptance and love and mercy. It meant that Tom was going to give him another chance.

"Babe, you cracked my window."

"Oh," Bill's eyes flew open just slightly. Sometimes the things he did out of anger became a forgotten blur.

"Uhm…well, we can use the money from the cashbox to fix it," he said, leaning over the car to collect it from the shattered windshield. Sweetly, he offered it to Tom. The blond just rolled his eyes.

"The irony."

* * *

"Sixteen hundred, that's not bad for a day's work," smiled Georg while fitting a rubber band around the wad of paper money in his hand. "And we barely even sold half of all your stuff. That's amazing."

"Thanks for helping me today. I know you had to miss a day of work," Bill replied. "Take some of the money."

"Nah. What are friends for?" Georg filled the cashbox with the wad of paper money and rolled coins before passing it back to Bill. "I think I'm gonna hit the hay. Need me for anything else?"

"No. Get some rest."

"Alright. Tell Tom I said goodnight, your Mom too." And with that, Georg tiredly made his way up to the guest bedroom.

In the kitchen, Tom was drying dishes while Simone washed. It hadn't been apparent to her at first, but after meeting Tom for the first time, seeing how young he was and attractive, she knew now that he likely shared a different sort of relationship with her son than she first expected. The other coaches had been much older, too old for Bill, which included David. But she knew nothing about what had happened between he and Bill and she didn't need to. That would remain a secret.

"So did you guys patch things up okay?" Simone pried a little. Up until then, they'd just been exchanging funny stories about weird customers at the yard sale, but now she wanted to know more about Tom's future in her son's life. Was he just a casual boyfriend, a potential son-in-law, an old lover destined to become nothing more than a family friend? Should she get attached? Nothing could stop these questions from circling her mind.

"We're working on it," Tom replied.

"Thank you for standing by him. I know my son can be…"

"Crazy?"

"Unique," Simone finished with a laugh and handed over another wet plate. "He adores you, ya know."

Her tone, the way she smiled at him, Tom knew what the woman was hinting at. She didn't have to say it.

"I feel the same way," he said, trying hard not to blush as he wiped the dish dry.

Within the hour they were both ready to go home. Simone made sure to leave first, giving Tom and her son a chance to be alone. It felt good to see that Bill was finally ready to move on from Andreas. And if Tom was the man that Bill wanted to move on with, she saw no vice in that. It was about time.

Back inside the house, Tom and Bill were holding hands at the front door.

"I don't want you to go," Bill pleaded. "I thought you understood that I love you. Stay the night."

"I love you too, but I need some time to myself; time to think about all this. I'm still confused," Tom explained while running a hand through his boyfriend's hair. "Don't take it wrong, okay?" Bill nodded into his touch. "I'll call you," he assured the other man and they parted slowly.

"Bye," Bill whispered as Tom slipped out of the front door and almost cried when the blond pulled it shut. He'd be sleeping alone again tonight.

* * *

"Sounds terrific," Gustav smiled. "I'll expect you next week Monday then."

"Thank you, Sir. You won't regret this," Adam said gratefully and reached his hand to across the table to shake with his new boss. He was Tom's new replacement; although no one could ever _really_ replace Tom. It'd taken Gus forever for to finally say yes to someone, partly because he imagined that the other blond might ask for his job back, and mostly because he regretted driving Tom off in the first place. He hadn't meant for that to happen, but jealousy mad him do it.

There was no other reason for acting the way he did. Bill was a grown up who could take care of himself, why should he take his friends love life so personally? But almost effortlessly, Tom had been able to help Bill in a way that Gus had been trying to for years. The closeness that they suddenly shared, the companionship, it all made Gus question his own merit. He was upset with himself for not being able to help Bill and upset with Tom for being able to do what he himself couldn't.

It was just like Georg said; Gus had never been a listener. Maybe if he had, he would have realized how to help Bill kick his addiction ages ago, maybe Tom would have been able to level with him the last time they'd seen each other, maybe…maybe anything but this; this loneliness and guilt. Forever, he'd acted as if he'd known everything, but now it was as if he knew nothing.

Gustav dug Tom's old casework journal out of his desk and quietly thumbed through the pages. He'd need to have a duplicate ready for Adam on Monday.

Monday, Monday.

Damn. Why did Tom have to go?

* * *

Tom forced another breath out of his lungs. He almost couldn't keep up with his own breathing anymore and his teeth had started to chatter because the rest of him was shaking so much.

"I can't hold it."

"I don't mind," Bill said against his neck. They'd been at it for hours and poor Tom had done most of the work at his own insistence, but now his body was exhausted. "Come in me."

The blond rocked his hips back and forth, feeling the muscles under his skin burn from the exertion before—

"Oh, oh god, here it comes! Fuck!" He held their sweaty bodies together and let one more orgasm to overthrow him. His penis twitched as just a small deposit of semen spurted into Bill's opening, a majority of which was already in his lover's belly from orgasms past.

They stayed huddled together until Tom's manhood went flaccid and steadily slipped out of Bill's body. Caressing each other and kissing, they basked in the afterglow. The sound of Georg's bedroom door opening and closing across the hall startled them at first.

"Don't make that face," Bill whispered once Tom sat up in bed. His boyfriend was staring at their bedroom door as if he could see through it to Georg's room. "Jealous," the brunette wearily smiled.

After his falling out with Tom, Bill was forced to actively re-evaluate his life. What little he had left in his miserable existence was fading fast and he'd been desperate to gain some sort of control. A nervous attempt at reconciliation with Georg had mended their friendship in a way he didn't think was possible; Georg was living with him now after all. It was just temporary until he could find another job and get settled back into their old town, but the meantime gave them a chance to heal together. It was what they should have been doing all along.

"I'm not jealous," Tom squinted his eyes. "Just concerned…"

"He doesn't even like guys," Bill tried to explain while gently tugging on one of Tom's dreadlocks. "Tomi?"

"Hm?"

"Make love to me again."

"Bill," Tom shook his head. "If I come one more time, either my dick is gonna fall off or I'll die of dehydration. Maybe both, so no more tonight," the blond replied. "Okay?" Bill didn't respond. "Okay?" he asked again and looked over to see that the other boy had fallen asleep.

After cleaning up a little, Tom put on a pair of boxers and wandered his way down to the kitchen for some water. Looking from right to left, the house still had some excess, but nothing that another yard sale couldn't fix. To be honest, it looked strange in there now, creepy even. Tom hurried up with his glass of water, but on his way back upstairs, he realized that something was glowing on the dining room table. It was his phone. Someone had left him a text.

"Gus," he said to himself. God how that name still left a bitter taste in his mouth. Bill had been at him for weeks to make a mends with the other blond and this was obviously his doing, but Tom just wasn't ready yet. It wasn't that Gustav had tried to break them up that Tom was still mad about; it was believing that their friendship had been based on common ground, on a type of brotherhood that no one else at their stupid job could understand; only to realize how fake that bond had been.

_"The only reason I didn't automatically hate you too was because I already knew the 'real' reason David got canned."_

Tom could still hear those words in his head. Whatever friendship they once had felt so cheap now. Was it even worth it?

"U and I shud talk. Call me 2morrow," the text read.

He'd think about it.

Back upstairs, Tom tried to ease himself onto the mattress without waking Bill. The brunette stirred as his lover worked to cover them both with a blanket.

Things were so much better now, calmer, more honest. If only he could convince Bill to come clean about the plastic box under his bed; the secret one he wasn't supposed to know about. The one with a small collection of Tom's shirts, his old business cards from when he worked at the AWD, and the condom wrappers from every night that they'd slept together since the break up. Somehow he'd find a way to prove to Bill that he wasn't going anywhere; not again. And that the little shrine under the bed wasn't necessary. But old habits die hard.

"Night, baby," the blond kissed his shoulder. Resting against the pillows, his eyes shut wearily and Tom fell asleep in a much less crowded house.


End file.
